


tell me nothing lasts (like i don't know)

by certifiedclown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Voldemort, Bombs, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Dark Harry Potter, Dark Magic, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Good Slytherins, Good Tom Riddle, Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Harry is a Good Friend, Harry is a Little Shit, He's not evil, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Manipulative Tom Riddle, Orphan Harry Potter, Orphanage, POV Tom Riddle, Possessive Tom Riddle, Psychological Trauma, Religious Content, Sane Tom Riddle, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherins Being Slytherins, So is Tom, They love each other, Time Travel, Tom Riddle is Not Voldemort, Tom is a Sweetheart, Violent Harry, Violent Thoughts, World War II, and somewhat angsty, anyway, but he is a sociopath, but not evil, but not really, he's not exactly good but...., its not a good time, kind of, not much, only some are Good, this is just gonna be gay and soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-01-08
Packaged: 2020-10-29 08:56:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 26,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20794013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/certifiedclown/pseuds/certifiedclown
Summary: "Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.  It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.  Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.  It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away." 1 Corinthians 13:4-8When Tom meets Harry, everything changes.





	1. bad, bad news

Wool’s Orphanage looms in the distance, the dreary building adding even more gloom to the dark streets of London. There are no sounds of laughter emanating from its cold walls; in fact, there’s no sound to be heard at all besides the loud, occasional rumble of thunder and the roar of rain. 

There is no one foolish enough to be out in this downpour. Except for one lonely woman, her stomach swollen from pregnancy, making her seem even more thin than she was. She doesn’t let her sickly state deter her though, her defeated eyes shining with a newly found determination. She staggers forward, her impossibly thin legs valiantly holding up the weight of her heavy belly even as they tremble from the exertion. 

She grasps at the gate of the orphanage, her eyes strained and opens her mouth to call out for help, desperately hoping someone would hear her. She knows she would not live for much longer, her weary body too close to giving up. Maybe, if she wasn’t with child, she could recover from this. But she refuses to regret the child currently in her womb. This baby meant everything to her in this miserable world and she would do everything in her power to deliver him to the world.

“Help!” she tries to yell, but it scraps its way out of her throat in a breathy croak. She winces at the sudden pain and blinks back tears. She gasps raggedly, her abused throat stinging, and tries once again, this time much louder. “Please, someone help me!”

Thankfully, someone hears and the doors of the orphanage swing open, revealing a strict looking woman with greying brown hair pulled back in a tight bun barely visible underneath her veil. Her narrowed eyes land on the woman leaning on the gates of her orphanage and they widen marginally. She turns quickly, her pursed lips opening so that she can shout for assistance.

“Martha!” she barks sharply, her eyes straying back to the woman. “Come quickly!”

“Yes, Mrs. Cole!” a soft voice calls back, a figure soon appearing to accompany it. It’s a young woman with a rounded face, her dress revealing nothing of her figure. Her blonde hair gets in her eyes and she pushes it out of the way, her own eyes widening when she, too, catches a glimpse of the woman. “Oh dear!”

Unlike Mrs. Cole, the Matron of the orphanage, she rushes forward to help the poor woman, quickly opening the gate to grasp the woman’s arm and lead her into the relative warmth of the orphanage. The woman follows weakly, but she mumbles words of gratitude repeatedly as tears fall down her gaunt face in thick rivulets.

“Get some water, Martha,” Mrs. Cole orders once they’ve settled the woman down on a spare bed, her eyes critical as she observes the pregnant woman. “And some towels, if you please.”

“Yes, Mrs. Cole, right away!” Martha nods, her eyes alarmed still. Before she can fully leave the room, Mrs. Cole gives her another order.

“Retrieve the other girls as well, Martha,” she says, her sharp voice softening when the woman writhes in pain, her eyes closing for a short moment that passes as quickly as it came. She raises her chin and rolls her shoulders. “This woman is going into labor.”

Marth gasps fearfully and hurries out of the room, the names of the other girls leaving her lips in a loud cry as soon as she steps out of the room. Mrs. Cole tries her best to soothe the woman, but nothing seems to relieve her pain. Thankfully, the other girls filter in, followed closely by Martha. A pale bucket of warm water is clutched in her hands while the other girls hold towels. They set the supplies down and immediately begin prepping the woman to the best of their abilities. 

Martha strokes the poor woman’s face, murmuring comforting words as the other girls work as quickly as they can, placing a pillow underneath the woman’s hips and head, raising her bony legs and forcing them apart. The woman whimpers, her skeletal hands twisting in the sheets as another contraction wracks through her body. She grits her teeth, spittle leaving her lips as she gasps in pain.

Mrs. Cole rolls her sleeves up and leaves to wash her hands before taking her place between the woman’s legs. The girls begin preparing for the baby as Mrs. Cole begins coaxing the woman through the birth of her child, unfazed at the blood.

“Come now, dear, push!”

“I can’t!” the woman wails, biting back a scream as another savage contraction tears through her body. She bites her lip so hard she draws blood. Martha grasps the woman’s hand and dabs at the sweat beading on her brow. “Oh, I...I can’t! He’s going to...to...to…suffocate! Get him out now!”

Mrs. Cole hesitates, staring at the blood surrounding the woman’s legs. And suddenly she knows that she won’t live long enough to deliver her son. Not unless they cut him out. Quickly she rises to her feet and leaves the room on weak knees. 

There isn’t enough time to call on a doctor nor is there enough time to administer painkillers, no matter how weak the drugs they have on hand are. Shakily, Mrs. Cole gathers her composure and rushes to gather the supplies they’ll need. Unfortunately, all they have are kitchen knives so she selects the sharpest one they have. She gathers first aid supplies - just in case God gives them a miracle - and returns to the room containing the screaming woman.

“Girls, if you have weak stomachs then I suggest you leave,” Mrs. Cole states. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to perform a C-section.”

Martha looks up from her self-assigned job of comforting the woman and bites her lip. “Are you sure, Mrs. Cole?”

“Yes, I am,” the Matron says with a shaky sigh. “She won’t live long enough to deliver the baby. If we don’t act now then they’ll both die. Let’s hop to it, shall we?”

None of the girls leave, accepting this as God’s will and sending prayers that will fall on deaf ears. Then they move to hold the woman down so she won’t thrash and injure them. They know this will hurt her immensely, but she had begged them to save her baby. Martha holds a sheet up in front of them woman so she won’t see, her eyes welling with tears.

And so, Mrs. Cole cuts into the woman’s swollen middle, biting back bile when she has to empty the woman of her vital organ so that she can get to the baby. Just as predicted, the woman screams bloody murder and thrashes harshly against her human restraints. She’s undoubtedly woken up the children by now.

Mrs. Cole gnashes her teeth and pushes on, ignoring the nausea curling in her stomach. Once she’s reached the child, she almost sobs in relief. She grabs hold of the infant as gently as she can and frees it from it’s mother’s body. One of the girls take him from her and begins cleaning him, cooing softly when he screams loudly.

Martha lays the sheet - a dull grey - on the gore of the woman’s middle and hurries to dab at the woman’s face. Her face is pale and her eyes are dull with just a hint of life in them. Her lips would be colorless if not for the blood staining them. Martha smiles shakily when Mrs. Cole leaves to clean off the blood on her hands. 

“You did it, ma’am,” she whispers to the dying woman, tears slipping from her eyes. “You did it.”

“Where….?” the woman breathes weakly. “Where’s…..my….baby?”

“He’s right here, ma’am,” one of the girls says, stepping closer with the baby bundled up in one of the softest blankets they have. “And he’s so handsome. He’s going to be a looker when he grows up, he is.”

The woman’s eyes widen and a small measure of strength returns to her. She raises her arms and reaches for her son, her arms shaking slightly. The girl hesitates, but hands him over when Martha nods. A sob leaves the woman when her eyes land on her baby’s face. She closes her eyes, tears wetting her eyelashes, and presses a kiss to his forehead. The baby, who’d been crying since he’d entered the world, falls silent, a happy gurgle leaving his toothless mouth.

“He’s perfect,” the woman whispers reverently. “He looks just like his father. I’m glad.”

“Yes,” Martha agrees softly. “He’s beautiful. What will you name him?”

“Tom Marvolo Riddle,” she whispers after a moment of silence, her eyelids drooping. Her body relaxes, but her arms do not budge. “Tom for his father and Marvolo for his grandfather.”

“A lovely name, “ Martha praises softly, shifting so that she can take the baby from the dying woman. But the woman resists, pressing one last kiss to her child’s brow, a strange glow emanating from the spot when she pulls away. She sighs one last time and cuddles him as close as her weak limbs will let her. 

“I love you, baby,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. The baby - Tom - coos again and lays a chubby hand on her chin which only makes her cry harder. Tom, seeing his mother in such distress, begins crying again and Martha swiftly takes him from his mother’s arms. The woman lets out one last choking sob before her body goes lax, her eyes falling closed as if she’s falling asleep.

But the girls present know she will never wake up again. And Tom Marvolo Riddle, that fateful baby born on December 31, 1926, cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not help myself. I have A Lot of feelings about this boy and I need to get them out. This will be so self-indulgent, man, so beware, I guess.
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ) It's a server dedicated to your takes on shows, characters, books, etc. Those theories you have bottled up can be aired out there! And I'm there (assuming you like me) so there's that! Really just join it. Please.
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)


	2. don't ask questions

Tom hates the orphanage. He hates hates hates hates hates it. _ Hates _ it. It’s cold and damp and dark. The floors creak and moan underneath his weight, however minuscule it may be, and the paint on the walls peel. The air is damp and musty with the scent of mildew and rot. Nothing is new. Nothing is ever completely clean. Everything in the orphanage has some sort of stain on it. Something to ruin it. And Tom ** _hates _ **it.

He hates his cold room with its rotted wood and stone walls and cramped space. He hates his scuffed wardrobe and his worn clothes - they’re so scratchy and itchy no matter what Martha does. He hates his old, mildewy mattress and it’s ratty, holey blankets that offer so little warmth when it’s truly cold outside.

And he hates the food - if it can even be called that. It’s barely even slop. Barely good enough for pigs. It’s so disgusting. Tom can deal with the low-grade supplies all day, but he can’t _ stand _the food. But he has to eat it. And it is always a struggle. It tastes like dish soap on the best of days and like poison on the worst. He supposes he’s lucky he hasn’t died of food poisoning yet because surely that must be what that good for nothing cook is trying to do. Surely it must be on purpose. Surely. It has to be. No one would even call what she makes “food.” It’s not even “cooking,” in fact, that’s an insult to people who do cook!

But, mostly, he hates the people. The caretakers - Mrs. Cole - and the other children - Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop and Ben Buck and Billy Stubbs. They treat him like he’s a monster. Devil-stained, Devil-spawn, Son of Satan, Prince of Darkness. The Antichrist. And sometimes he almost believes them. Surely, if they all despise him so, he must be as bad as they say. But he always dismisses that thought when it creeps into his awareness.

They’re the monsters, the things that sleep underneath beds, preying on innocents. They’re the ones who are “touched by the Devil.” They’re the bad ones, not him. All he ever does is defend himself. They’re the ones who keep hurting him, who keep attacking him. It’s not his fault that they’re less than intelligent. It’s not his fault that he’s so obviously better than them. That they’re _ lesser _.

His only ally is Martha - the woman who practically raised him, who tells him stories of his mother and how much she loved him - if she can even be called that. She doesn’t do anything to stop the bullying. She just gives him that same shaky smile she’s always given him and gives him those candies he likes before sending him to bed. Sometimes he hates her. Sometimes he wants to hurt her like they hurt him, but then she gives him candy and pets his hair and he doesn’t want to anymore. 

(She’s the only human he loves, he sometimes thinks at night when he aches for a mother that was never there. And when he gets out of here, out of this horrible place, he’ll take her with him. She’s the closest thing he has to family.)

Despite the hostility his peers carry for him, he does have friends. They’re just not human. They live in the gardens outside, in the ditches, and the woods. They live in the holes children stay away from and adults' eye warily. They live where humans can’t bother them, but they always come out for Tom. Only for Tom. They’re such loyal friends.

He has to keep them a secret though - a heavily guarded secret. If the Matron saw him conversing with his friends, then she’d never leave him alone. She’d call the church - like she’s been threatening to do for years - and he’d be taken to the Father. They’d perform an exorcism on him. It’d be like one of the ones Billy Stubbs always talks about, telling Tom it’ll happen to him sooner or later. One of the ones where they carve runes into your flesh and chant in Latin, begging for the Lord to save you.

So he keeps his friends a secret, only talking to them when no one’s around. And no one’s caught him so far. In fact, he plans to go talk to them right now. He hasn’t been able to speak to them for a week. He’s got laundry duty this week, so he gets to go outside. He’ll have to go to the creek outside now and then to dump the water. He’ll be outside. Alone. It’s the perfect time to go and see his friends. Some of them live near the creek.

Tom doesn’t smile as he drags the large pail outside, his tiny body straining under its weight as he lugs it to the river. He never smiles when others can see him. They’ll either laugh and mock him or they’ll stare and whisper, wondering what he’s done this time. He doesn’t like either reaction, so he keeps his smiles to himself, only letting Martha see them now and then.

He hears the telltale hissing when he finally makes it to the creek and his eyes light up with excitement. He positions the pail and crouches down, eyes darting around, searching for his friend. After a quick look around to make sure no eyes are on him, he smiles down at the green garden snake slithering out to greet him. 

_“Tom, we have not seen you in many passes of the sun,” _the snake - Tom had named him K after the protagonist in _The Castle_[1] - hisses, pleased to see him. Tom lets the smile on his face widen, excited to see his friend once again. _“Where have you been, hatchling?”_

_ “I know,” _ he hisses back, slightly sheepish. _ “I got in ter trouble again.” _

_ “The “matron” hurt you again?” _ K deduces, slithering up Tom’s outstretched hand. He sounds displeased. _ “Why don’t you just leave those worthless humans, hatchling? Come and live in the trees with us. We’d take care of you.” _

_ “I wanna, but I can't,” _ Tom tells him, disappointed. He wanted nothing more than to leave the orphanage. _ “I've gotta get an education. I get ter go ter school in August, ya know. Ya won't see me much then."_

_ “I do not understand you humans,” _ K declares, resting against Tom’s neck now, his tongue flickering out to tickle the boy’s ear. Tom jerks and giggles a little. _ “This is a rite of passage for you, yes?” _

Tom nods. _ “Yeah, it's Heaven and Hell importan' tha' I learn ter read n' write."_

_ “If you say so,” _ K shakes his head and Tom giggles again, the feeling of snakeskin against his comforting. _ “You are cleaning used bedding again? Why don’t you humans just get new bedding?” _

_ “Yeah, I'm on laundry duty again,” _ Tom says, ignoring K’s question - he asks the same one every time - as he gets ready to tip the pail over. _ “I volun'eer so I can see ya, ya know tha'.” _

_ “Yes, it pleases me that you come and see me so often,” _ K preens, _ “but you really should visit the others more, hatchling, they’re starting to get restless.” _

Tom nods and places a foot on the pail, pushing so it tips over. The dirty, soapy water mixes with that of the creek. _ “Don't worry, I won't let them 'urt ya, I promise.” _

_ “I am not worried about me!” _ K hisses, rearing up to bare his fangs. Tom smirks. _ “I am worried about them. They should know better than to mess with the likes of me.” _

_ “They won't leave ya alone, will they?"_

_ “No,” _ K says, somehow manage to sniff derisively, _ “they will not.” _

_ “Alrigh', I'll visit the bleedin' others more," _Tom placates and K nods, pleased. _ “You're jus' me favorite.” _

_ “I am aware,” _ K says smugly before he freezes. _ “Someone is coming.” _

_ “Wha'?” _ Tom gets to his feet and looks around, his eyes narrowed. _ “I don't see anyone.” _

_ “They hide!” _ K hisses menacingly, slowing slithering down Tom’s form, coming to a stop near his feet. He coils up and hisses loudly. _ “They smell of fear!” _

_ “Are they close? Do ya fink they can hear me?" _Tom asks fearfully, his five-year-old brain scrambling in an attempt to come up with an excuse or alibi. _ “They're goin' ter tell Mrs. Cole!"_

_ “They are near enough to hear, yes,” _ K informs him sadly, moving closer to the brush and bramble near the wood’s edge. _ “They are here. Should I go?” _

_ “Yeah, they might 'urt ya if they can get ter ya,” _Tom hisses as quietly as he can. K whispers a farewell and retreats into his home. Ton snaps his attention back to the stalker. “Come out! I know yer there.”

“Mrs. Cole ain'' goin ter let ya get away wif this one, Tom!” Billy Stubbs crows, stepping out of the bramble, leaves and twigs in his messy blond hair. Tom scowls. “I 'heard ya hissing!”

“You don't 'ave any proof," Tom says, but Billy just smiles at him.

“Who's she goin' ter listen to? Ter believe? Me or ya?” he asks, a sneer curling on his lips. Tom’s blood runs cold and he shoots forward to grab at the other boy, but he’s already running into the building, screaming for Mrs. Cole at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face. 

“Shut up! I didn't do anyfing!” Tom shouts angrily, his blood boiling despite his fear. He chases after the blond boy, mind whirring and reeling. Billy wails for Mrs. Cole again, running to her when she walks out of her office, a scowl fixed on her face. “Don't listen ter 'im, he's lyin', he is.”

She regards him cooly. “I think that I will be the judge of that, Tom,” she says, her voice low with warning. Tom stiffens and she turns to Billy. “Now tell me what’s wrong, child. What’s the matter?”

“I found Tom speakin the Devil's tongue!” Billy tells her quickly. “He was talkin' ter them snakes out back, he was! I 'heard 'im loud an' clear!”

“Is that so?” Mrs. Cole murmurs. She nods. “Right. Off with you, Billy, I’ll deal with Tom.”

Billy nods and turns to leave, catching Tom’s eye long enough to mouth ‘good luck’ at him. Tom seethes, vision going red for a second. Mrs. Cole grabbing him by the arm brings him out of his reverie and he blinks as she drags him into her office.

“Have a seat, Tom,” she says, releasing him. Tom does as she says, keeping his anger off of his face. He can’t quite downplay the tension in his body though, so he sits stiffly, his jaw clenching rhythmically. Mrs. Cole takes her seat behind her desk and shakes her head. “Tom, this is the last straw. We’ve had too many issues with you. I’m sorry, but you’ve forced my hand. I’m going to have to call the Father.”

“Wha'? No!” Tom protests, jumping out of his seat, eyes blazing. “Billy didn't see nofing! He's lyin'! I didn't do anyfing wrong! I was jus' dumpin' wa'er!”

“Tom,” Mrs. Cole says firmly, “I am sick and tired of your lies. Why must you keep doing this? Acting out like this? Do you want to go to Hell so badly?”

Tom looks away quickly, recognizing that tone of voice. “I really didn't do anyfing.”

“How can I believe you? All you do is lie, Tom,” she says with a heavy sigh. “I suppose, if you are touched by the Devil, that’s it’s not your fault. Well, once I call the Father, this’ll be fixed. The demon inside you won’t be plaguing you anymore.”

“I'm not possessed! An' I'm not mad!” Tom protests hotly, sudden anger clouding his judgment. “Billy is jus' havin' a go at me! There's nofing wrong wif me!”

“Stop it, Tom!” Mrs. Cole says sharply, her eyes hard. Tom blinks at the sudden harshness on her face and sits down. “I am calling the Father and that is final.”

Tom nods numbly and waits in silence as she does just that. He stares blankly as she speaks into the telephone, almost whispering. When she’s done, she sighs and fixes her bun. Tom waits for her to guide him out of the office and into the foyer.

“He’s coming to pick you up,” she tells him before leaving him there to wait. 

Tom curls his hands into tight fists, shoulders shaking as he represses his sudden need to cry, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood and stares at the double doors of the orphanage, steadfastly ignoring the whispers behind him. The others always like to gossip, laughing and pointing and mocking.

Tom ** _hates _ **them.

The church is only a block away from the orphanage so it doesn’t take long for the Father to arrive. He stares as the door opens and reveals the balding man. His eyes land on Tom, cold and full of hate, and he strives toward the boy. He takes Tom by the arm and drags him outside, forcing him into his automobile. He doesn’t say anything to Tom as they drive to the church.

Once there, he drags Tom into the church and into the basement which smells strongly of numerous herbs. He points to a diagram in the middle of the room.

“Lay down there, boy, and take off your shirt,” he orders and Tom listens. He steps into the diagram and sits in the middle, quickly ridding himself of his shirt. He shivers and reclines down, the cold air giving him goosebumps. The Father leaves the room for a few moments, returning with a large bowl - filled with holy water, no doubt - and a pocket knife.

The Father doesn’t say anything else to Tom for the duration of the night. Instead, he focuses on carving the appropriate rune into Tom’s skin - and isn’t that quite satanic of him? - ignoring the child’s sobs and pleas. Then he stands, opening up his bible to chant prayers in Latin in attempts to cast the “demon” out of Tom. Then he sets the bible aside and begins splashing Tom with the holy water, chanting all the while, his voice increasing in volume and emotion.

And Tom seethes. He screams and cries and pleas and even threatens, but the man does not stop. He continues with his useless rituals and carves even more runes into Tom’s back when nothing seems to have changed, even going so far as to deepen the others. And Tom screams.

Eventually, he passes out, the blood loss and emotional toll too much for his small body to handle. When he comes to, he’s in his room at the orphanage, Martha waiting by his bedside, tears gleaming in her eyes. Tom bites back tears and blinks rapidly, keeping his face carefully blank.

“Oh, Tom!” Martha gasps out when she notices that he’s awake. “I’m so sorry, love. I should’ve been there. I should’ve stopped Mrs. Cole.”

_ Yeah, _ Tom thinks, _ you should have. _But he doesn’t say anything. He just stares at the wall in front of him in silence, already planning his revenge on Billy Stubbs, ignoring Martha as she cries on his bedsheets.

He knows what to do.

Eventually, she gathers her composure and sniffs. “I’ve left some painkillers in your wardrobe, love. Take them when you need them and let me know if you need more, yeah?”

He still doesn’t speak. He shifts to look out his window, noting that it’s dark out. She sighs.

“Alright, love, I’ve got to go,” she smooths a hand over his hair and he looks at her now. She smiles and kisses his head. “I’ll check up on you later, okay? You rest up.”

She leaves then and he waits a few seconds before forcing himself out of his bed, grimacing at the stinging pain radiating from his back. He cracks open his door, peering into the hallway before stepping out. He creeps across the hall, carefully making his way to Billy Stubbs’ room. 

Once there, he breathes in deeply, his body thrumming with childish excitement before he grabs the door handle. He turns it slowly and pushes the door open, cringing when it creaks. He waits a few moments before he enters the room, eyes zeroing in on the rabbit cage kept in the corner. A smile stretches across his chubby face. He quickly opens the cage, willing the rabbit asleep and lifts it out, darting out of the room as soon as he’s sure he’s got a good hold on the animal.

He returns to his room, his breathing harsh and heaving. He drops the docile rabbit on his bed unceremoniously and opens his wardrobe doors, searching for a bit of string. His eyes light up when he finds some buried deep within his meager supply of trousers. He takes it in hand, willing it to be as strong as rope. Then he turns to the rabbit.

He’s still smiling - an awful smile that should never be on a child’s face, one sick and twisted, filled with feral glee. And his eyes are wide and dilated, crazed and glazed. He looks beastly and dangerous. Demonic. 

Tom approaches the rabbit with slow steps, his hand clenching around the string. He pants harshly, the childish excitement reaching a crescendo. The rabbit does not move when he ties the string around its neck, uncaring of its comfort, concerned only with his revenge. It does not react when he picks it up and carries it downstairs into the cafeteria. It does not move when he places it in the middle of the room and steps away. It only moves when he wishes for it to, _ wishing _ it on the rafters, _ making _it appear there.

The string ties itself around the rafters tightly. The rabbit jumps. And Tom laughs.

He returns to his room after he’s spent a good ten minutes staring at the swinging rabbit, laughing and giggling in satisfaction. The pain from his back is impossible to ignore now, sharp and stinging, so he takes some of the painkillers Martha left him before he crawls back into his bed. 

His heart is still thumping against his rib cage, reminding him of the rabbit and its kicking feet. It hadn’t made any noise as it died, but it had struggled so much. It was clear that it did not want to die.

Oh, Billy will be absolutely _ heartbroken _. He’d know after this. He’d learn his lesson. They all would. Tom Riddle is not to be messed with. He grins at the thought and falls asleep, content to wait for what tomorrow morning will bring.

He wakes to screams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. The Castle is a 1926 novel by Franz Kafka. In it a protagonist known only as "K" arrives in a village and struggles to gain access to the mysterious authorities who govern it from a castle.  
Well, I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. Look, I know the accent is horrible to look at, but there is no way Tom didn't have a cockney accent. There just isn't. Obviously, he trains it out when he gets to Hogwarts, but it's still a Thing. Anyway, comment below and tell me your thoughts, yeah?
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ) It's a server dedicated to your takes on shows, characters, books, etc. Those theories you have bottled up can be aired out there! And I'm there (assuming you like me) so there's that! Really just join it. Please.
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)


	3. you don't wanna know

Tom smiles to himself - a small, almost invisible thing - as the other children board the bus, intent on going to the beach He follows behind them and strolls down the aisle to his seat at the back. No one sits with him, but that suits him just fine. He doesn’t want anyone to sit with him, least of all filth like them.

Mrs. Cole does a quick head count - sneering when she lays eyes on him - before she takes her own seat, nodding to let the man driving know that they’re ready to leave. The bus’ engine starts and they begin to move. 

Tom is excited for their monthly seaside trip. He’s been looking forward to it since he found the caves near the cliffs. He’s wanted to explore it for some time now - sure, it’s only been a month, but with the company he unwillingly keeps it felt _ much _longer. It had looked so promising the last time he was there. Dark and whispering, full of secrets for him to find. He’s very grateful to Martha for pushing the trip to be earlier in the month. It was her birthday present for him - he just turned eight last month. 

The bus rolls to a stop and Mrs. Cole rises. “Listen up!” she calls out sharply, her stern eyes narrowed. “You all should know the rules by now. You stay with your groups - in sight, yes, I mean you, Ben - and you stay away from the water. Does everyone understand?”

“Yes, Mrs. Cole!” the orphans chorus together. Mrs. Cole nods, satisfied, and departs from the bus. The children follow her with eager legs and wide smiles. Tom hangs back, unwilling to stay with his group.

He doesn’t like Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop - that’s not saying much seeing as he doesn’t like anyone. But Amy and Dennis are up there on his most hated list. They’re almost as bad as Ben Buck and Billy Stubbs. Almost. Point is, he doesn’t like them. Thankfully, they’ve got an arrangement for the trips. Tom will leave them alone for the month (i.e. he won’t punish them) if they leave him to his exploring. It works well for them, but they’re still incredibly annoying.

“Mrs. Cole is gettin' right strict on the rules now, Tom,” Dennis Bishop says when Tom’s departed the bus, a nervous tremor to his voice, “don't ya fink we should stick toge'her fer now?"

Tom slowly turns his head to meet Dennis’ eyes. The boy flinches at the cold, unfeeling look in his eyes. Tom smiles blandly. “No,” he says with false cheer, ignoring how pale the two children before him look. “We'll keep doin' wha' we've been doin. Mrs. Cole don't care wha' we do, you know tha'. Don't make any more stupid suggestions, yeah?”

“We might get inta big trouble, Tom!” Amy insists and Tom glares at her, his ire slowly being stirred. He’s getting angry now.

“I won't,” he says simply, trying to push down the urge to hurt and crush and punish away. Amy stares at him in shock and he gives her a pleasant smile. “Mrs. Cole won't do nofing ta _me _. I don't care if y'all get inta trouble. s'got nofing ta do wif me.”

Dennis’ mouth curls and he stares at Tom in disgust. “You're a right prick, you know tha'? Dis is why no one likes you!”

“Is tha' so?” Tom asks, his voice still light and pleasant, but he’s not smiling anymore. Dennis shifts nervously and Amy ducks her head. “Alright. We're goin ta the cliffs. I want ta explore the caves.”

“The caves?” Amy whispers and Tom nods, annoyed and quickly losing his patience. “Aren't they dangerous though? I 'eard there was snakes in there.”

“Wha'ts wrong? I though ya wanted ta stay toge'her? Like Mrs. Cole said ta?” Tom asks, his voice high and mocking, his gaze derisive. Amy blushes and ducks her head. Dennis looks angry again. Tom smiles without warmth. “I’m goin ta the caves. You can stay here an' explain to Mrs. Cole if ya want.”

“No,” Dennis declares, curling his hands into fists. He’s shaking, Tom observes with delight. “We're comin too!”

“Let's get goin' then," Tom says before he turns to face the cliff. Amy whimpers behind him and Dennis whispers to her, offering words of comfort. Tom smirks. Those will be useless once he gets them away from everyone else. 

They follow behind him obediently, whispering to each other all the way. They start hesitating when they see how far away they’re getting from the others. However, they revert back to their submissive states once Tom shoots them a smile. Tom is immensely pleased with how this trip is going so far. It’s going to be so much fun.

Soon, they reach the caves and Tom’s smile widens, his breathing becoming harsh as his heart rate speeds up. He navigates the rocks, climbing over them with a grave his seven-year old body shouldn’t possess while Amy and Dennis struggle behind him. He reaches the entrance of the dark and gaping cave before them, settling down to wait on them, that same mockery of a smile playing on his lips. 

Dennis glares at him hatefully when he and Amy finally get to the entrance, panting and sweating. They look so _ pathetic _ . Tom’s smile becomes brighter - almost genuine - and he motions for them to follow him with his hand. Amy makes another whimpering noise, but Dennis hushes her with a few more comforting - _ empty _\- words. 

Tom’s smile falls away to be replaced by a sneer and he looks away in disgust. “C’mon,” he order anger simmering harshly just underneath his skin, "urry up, I don't got all day.”

“Can we wait a bit?” Amy asks quietly, but Tom doesn’t answer. He continues going deeper into the cave, unheeding of the pleading looks of the other children behind him. “Wait for us, Tom!"

“'urry up!” Tom calls back to them, pleased to hear the hurrying footsteps following him. He keeps walking deeper and deeper into the cave, smiling excitedly when he hears that tell-tale hissing. He speeds up, little legs pumping, and bursts into a clearing containing a lake.

A lake absolutely _ filled _with snakes.

He laughs breathily at the sight and crouches by the water, an eager hiss leaving his mouth hurriedly, _ “'ullo!” (Hullo!)_

_ “Greetings!” _

_ “Who is there? I smell human.” _

_ “It is a human hatchling, it is young, and it brings others with it.” _

_ “Why are there so many humans in our nest? My eggs will be found! They will be taken!” _

_ “Calm down, Calypso, it is only a speaker!” _

_ “And it has brought us food!” _

_ “No, it has not! Those are only hatchlings, you fool.” _

_ “A speaker? There is a speaker? Where?” _

_ “‘ere,” _ Tom answers happily, _ “I’m over ‘ere.”_

_ “Yes, I see you now, speaker.” _

_ “A young hatchling, where are its sires? Do humans often leave their offspring alone? How foolish! What if they get eaten?” _

_ “Why are you so shocked, Saxon? You act as if we care for our young. Why do we care if humans do or not?” _

_ “Because this hatchling is a speaker, of course. And Styx has stayed with her eggs for many passes of the sun. She may stay until they hatch.”_

_ “I will! These are my children and I will protect them until I meet my end!” _

_ “Unnatural.” _

_ “She is sick.” _

Tom scrunches his nose, displeased that he is being ignored but too used to how snakes are to be really bothered. They’re absolutely dreadful conversationalists. He sighs, shoulders sagging slightly as the footsteps behind him become louder, signalling that the others are coming closer. He really wanted to talk to the snakes - actually _ talk _to them - before getting on with the experiment, but it seems as if that won’t be able to happen.

_ “What ails you?” _ a tiny green snake hisses when he pushes himself to his feet. He pauses when his eyes fall on the snake, observing its glimmering scales and dark, golden eyes. _ “Why do you smell of pain? Who has harmed you, speaker? I will kill them!” _

Tom laughs at that. _ “They don't 'ur' me no more,” _ he assures the small snake, who is now crawling up his leg. _ “I've trained it out ov 'em. They know wha' 'appens if they go against me now.”_

_ “Then it is as it should be,” _ the snake hisses, pleased, her tongue tickling his cheek, her eyes boring into him. _ “You have done well.” _

_ “Wha'ts yer name?” _ Tom asks, curious about the young snake curling around his neck. _ “I’m Tom.”_

_ “I am not yet old enough to have earned a name, Tom-speaker,” _ she tells him and he frowns. _ “But you may give me one. It would be the highest honor.” _

Tom’s usually fast mind comes to a halt and he blanks. He searches for a name befitting the lovely snake resting on his shoulders, but he can’t think of one. After a few moments, he blurts one out and immediately regrets it after. Why did he name her “snake”? 

_ “I like it,” _ the newly dubbed Nagini declares, bobbing her head happily. _ “It sounds very nice when you say it, Tom-speaker. Thank you.” _

_ “You’re welcome,” _Tom mumbles. He stews in embarrassment for a few more moments, idly listening to the rapidly approaching footsteps before he shakes his head. Just as he’s left his feelings of embarrassment behind, Amy and Dennis come stumbling into the cave. Tom plasters the empty smile onto his face and turns to greet them. “‘ello.”

“Tom,” Amy begins tentatively, her eyes wide and her face pale, “wha' are ya doin'?”

“I fink it's obvious, don't you?” Tom asks her with a patronizing smirk taking residence on his lips. “I'm talkin ta me friends,_ innit tha' right?”_

_ “Yes, Tom-speaker,” _Nagini agrees sagely, likely clueless as to what he’s asking her. Tom smiles and raises a hand to stroke her head. She hisses in pleasure and curls closer to him, her tail underneath his jaw. Amy whimpers again, but Dennis squares his shoulders.

“Jus' wait til Mrs. Cole finds out yer still doin' freakish fings, Tom, jus' wait,” he hisses lowly and Tom blinks at him slowly. Dennis smiles, something slow and cruel, but Tom isn’t impressed with it. “She's goin' ta call the Fa'her again or yer goin ta be put in the looney bin if tha' doesn't work. I don't care. slong as yer _gone _.”

“An' who's goin' ta tell 'er?” Tom asks calmly, snorting when Dennis’ face twists in confusion. “You? Yeah, I don't fink so.”

“'ow're you goin' to stop us, 'uh?” Dennis retorts, smile triumphant. “What're you goin' to do?”

“I thought you'd never ask, Dennis,” Tom drawls, hissing the other boy’s name out slowly. He pales and takes Amy’s hand in his, fear coming back with a vengeance. “There's somefing I've beenn wantin' ta try out, ya see, an' I fink you an' Amy would be the perfect...._ specimens_. You can 'elp me, yeah?”

“No,” Amy whispers and Tom turns his head to look her in the eyes. Her eyes fill with tears and she shakes her head. Tom tilts his head, not dissimilar to the way a cat would, and narrows his eyes.

“No?” he parrots in question before he smiles. “I'm afraid tha' ya don't 'ave a choice.”

“No, Tom, we're leavin',” Dennis says, backing away slowly. Tom’s smile widens and he close his eyes, his head still cocked to the side, Nagini resting against his neck.

“No,” he says sweetly, his power rushing through his veins like adrenaline, seeping out of his very pores to creep along the damp rock of the cave floor, slowly approaching the children before him, “yer not.”

His power swells and crashes over them, submerging them in its depths, constricting and squeezing like a snake would. Dennis and Amy fall to their knees, hands scrabbling at the invisible coils choking them. Tom watches them begin crying with desperate, choked gasps with silent amusement, his lips quirking to the side slightly in a smug, superior smirk.

“.....stop….please….,” Amy wheezes, her face red and her eyes bulging. Dennis echoes her, but his eyes are hateful. “....Tom….please….”

“Alright,” Tom says pleasantly, dismissing the invisible ropes with a wave of his hand. The two slowly get to their feet, taking in deep gulps of air as they do so. Amy attempts to run as soon as she’s gotten to her feet, but Tom knew she’d try this. She begins sobbing when she realizes that she can’t move. Dennis stares at Tom, unblinking and unmoving.

“Yer a freak, Tom,” he says hatefully and Amy stares at him with wide eyes. She shakes, slowly turning to look at Tom, gauging his reaction, tensing further when she sees that he’s still smiling.

“Tha''s not a nice fing ta say, Dennis,” Tom chides softly. “Didn't Mrs. Cole teach you any manners? I ber she'll be very willin' ta remind you.” 

A muscle in Dennis’ jaw jumps as he gnashes his teeth together, his hands curling into fists. Tom steps closer to them, his eyes dark and his smile a little too wide. Amy closes her eyes and Tom bypasses her to step in front of Dennis. His eyes lock with the others and he slowly extends a hand to place it on the other’s cheek.

As soon as his hand touches Dennis, he _ screams._

It’s loud and piercing and guttural. It ignites Tom’s blood and makes his heart feel like it’s trying to lurch out of his chest, beating hard and fast enough to render him breathless. Adrenaline surges through his veins, joining the excitement cycling through him. And he delights in the feeling, this absolute high. He relishes the spittle leaving the boy collapsed at his feet, relishes the wide, bloodshot eyes filled with terror, relishes the twitching fingers and jerking limbs. 

Mostly though, he loves the _ fear._

He takes away his touch - his will, he’d pulled away from Dennis as soon as his legs gave out - and watches as the boy whimpers, defeated and deflated. He catches Tom’s eyes, his face covered in snot and tears, and quickly looks away. Submissive now, like he always should have been. Tom’s glad he can recognize his betters - namely Tom - now.

Amy trembles when his eyes rove over to land on her. She freezes, eyes wide with terror. Her hands, curled into tight fists, tremble at her sides. Her mouth is pressed shut, lips thin and clamped together tightly as if barely holding back a scream. 

Tom steps away from Dennis and towards Amy, smiling at her with false kindness. Her eyes are wild and her breathing is hard and ragged. Her eyes roll into the back of her head and one loud, sharp leaves her throat with a wrench as if forced out by a punch to the gut. It cuts off as suddenly as it begun and she falls to the ground of the cave, her head connecting with the hard cave with a resounding _ crack. _

Blood seeps out onto the rock. Dennis struggles to his knees and crawls over to her, his eyes wide and his mouth gaping. He lifts her as gently as he can and cradles her to his chest, staring at Tom with wide, fearful eyes. Tom tilts his head to the side and the other boy quickly looks away. Tom crouches next to them, eyes never leaving the blood staining Amy’s hair.

“Tom,” Dennis whispers, voice hoarse from screaming, body still trembling. “Ya killed ‘er.”

His voice is soft and barely there, but the shock in it is obvious. Tom scoffs and waves a hand over Amy’s head, watching in fascination as the spilled blood flows back into her skull, disappearing as if it was never there. 

“I didn't,” he tells Dennis, standing now. Nagini licks his cheek and he raises a hand to pet her once more. “Check 'er 'ead, she's fine.”

Dennis blinks at him blankly before hurrying to do as he said. He releases a heavy sigh of relief when his eyes and fingers find no evidence of her previous injury. Tom scoffs again and begins walking away from the two, towards the entrance of the cave.

“Where are you goin'?” Dennis asks quickly, shifting to watch him. Amy rolls lifelessly in his embrace, the only sign she is, in fact, alive the steady rise and fall of her chest. “I can't carry 'er by meself!”

Tom turns to side-eye him and rolls his eyes, fingers twitching for just a moment. “Ya won't 'ave ta,” he says emotionlessly. “She's wakin' up.”

“Wha'-” the boy begins asking just as the girl in his arms stirs. Amy blinks awake and Dennis helps her to her feet slowly. “Okay,” he says once they’re both on their feet once more, “we’re comin'.”

“‘urry up then,” Tom orders impatiently, “it's almos' time ta go. Mrs. Cole'll be lookin fer us. I don't want ta explain our absences ta 'er, so getta move on!”

The two flinch and look at their feet, still trembling. Tom sneers and turns away, stalking out of the cave with purpose. Nagini presses her body to his neck and he blinks at the reminder.

_ “I'm leavin now,” _ he informs her before hesitating. _ “Do ya want ta come wif me?”_

_ “Yes,” _ Nagini says after a long moment of consideration, her green scales duller in the sunlight than they were in the cave. _ “It would be an honor, Tom-speaker.” _

_ “Brillian'!” _ Tom smiles widely, warmth spreading through his chest. He continues on his way to the others, Amy and Dennis trailing behind him miserably. _ “Mrs. Cole don't like snakes,” _he warns Nagini as he goes.

_ “She is a coward,” _ Nagini says confidently before declaring _ “I will hide in your clothes!” _ and burrowing into his scratchy sweater. _ “Yes,” _ he hears her hiss softly, _ “it is warm in here.” _

He snickers before wiping any and all emotion off of his face, calmly approaching the gathering orphans, hands in his pockets. Amy and Dennis walk behind him, unwilling to walk in front of him. Tom is really enjoying the new respect they have for him.

Mrs. Cole’s eyes narrow when she sees Tom with Amy and Dennis, her lips pursed and her eyes full of suspicion. Tom stares at her dully and boards the bus without a word. He knows as soon as they get back to the orphanage that she’ll be interrogating Amy and Dennis. Unfortunately for her, they won’t tattle. If they do, there will be consequences for them and they know this.

Tom takes his seat and smiles widely at Amy and Dennis as they go to take theirs’, a bubble of amusement and satisfaction bursting in his chest when they flinch and look away. Yes, he thinks, they won’t tell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Harry should be coming in fairly soon. But for now have Nagini. Let me know what you thought in the comments.
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ) It's a server dedicated to your takes on shows, characters, books, etc. Those theories you have bottled up can be aired out there! And I'm there (assuming you like me) so there's that! Really just join it. Please.
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)


	4. learned my lesson way too long ago

Tom’s eleventh birthday passes by with little fanfare, despite Martha’s best efforts, and his current school year ends, leaving him with nothing to do to pass the time. Next year, he’ll be starting secondary school now that he’s completed primary school. He’s one of the oldest at the orphanage now - there’s only a handful of children over the age of eight still at the orphanage; unfortunately, that small handful consists of Billy Stubbs, Amy Benson, Dennis Bishop, and Ben Buck - so he may be getting slightly better school supplies for the upcoming year. 

Well, he would get better school supplies if the Matron liked him even slightly. She’s still holding onto the foolish belief that he’s the Devil’s spawn. Thankfully, it doesn’t bother Tom anymore. He’s developed a tough hide against spiteful barbs and insults. Hardly anything bothers him anymore, come to think of it. He’s left alone to do what he wants with his time, but he’s exhausted all of the entertainment options this pitiful orphanage has. 

He’s bored and desperate for something to do. 

(Bored meaning depressed and desperate meaning lonely.)

Tom shifts on his bed, an annoyed expression overtaking his budding features, glaring at the book held in his hands. He lets out a heavy sigh and turns his dark eyes to his door, idly wondering what it would take for something to happen. 

Maybe he should go pester Ben Buck? The boy hasn’t been punished nearly enough for his transgression against Tom quite yet - Mrs. Cole has keep a very close eye on him. Maybe he should finally go and take his revenge? Or should he let the pathetic child stew in his fear and paranoia just a bit more? He can’t decide, but he doesn’t really have anything in store for Ben Buck. 

(Maybe he should wait until everyone is asleep and choke little Ben in his sleep, just like he did to Tom.)

While he’s thinking on this, there’s a knock on his door. He looks up from where he’d been staring uncomprehendingly at the book and blinks when Mrs. Cole appears in his doorway.

“Tom?” she asks fearfully, shifting nervously. Tom can just barely see someone standing behind her and curses her suspicious behavior. Just what has she said about him this time? She clears her throat and continues, “you’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton - sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell you, well, I’ll let him do it.”

And, with those oh so eloquent words left hanging in the air awkwardly, she leaves. A man with an auburn colored beard and hair enters his room, blue eyes twinkling faintly. Mrs. Cole closes the door behind the man and Tom eyes him warily.

“How do you do, Tom?” the man - Mr. Dunderbore, really? - says, walking up forward and holding out his hand. 

Tom stares at the outstretched hand for a moment, hesitating, before he takes it and shakes it once, quickly letting go to clutch at his book. Dunderbore - is that really his name? - pulls up the wooden chair beside Tom’s bed and sits in it, making the pair of them look much like a hospital patient and visitor. Or a hospital patient and doctor. Tom gnashes his teeth at the thought.

“I am Professor Dumbledore,” the man declares almost grandly and Tom stares at him unblinkingly for a few moments. He doesn’t know if that worse than Dunderbore or not. 

“‘Professor’?” repeats Tom, wariness flooding him. “Is tha' like 'doctor'? Wha' are you 'ere for? Did _ she _get ya in ta 'ave a look at me?"

Dumbledore’s face displays a tiny bit of shock - likely at the strong accent Tom hates that he has - before he smiles. “No, no.”

“I don't believe you,” Tom says. “She wants me looked at, dudn't she? Tell the truth!”

He makes sure to put a bit of his will into the last sentence, satisfied when they leave his mouth with a force that makes his ears ring. It’s a command that he’s given many times before. His eyes widen and he glares at Dumbledore, waiting for the reveal. But the man doesn’t confess. He only smiles at Tom pleasantly.

“Who are you?” he asks, wariness swelling in his limbs again. He eyes the man distrustfully. 

“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts,” Dumbeldore _ lies _. “I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come.”

Rage consumes him, hot and sudden and _ strong. _ He pushes himself to his feet and just barely hold himself back, wanting desperately to lunge at this _ liar _ and _ claw his eyes out. _He’s furious.

“You can't kid me! Da asylum, tha''s where yer from, innit? 'Professor,' yes, ov course - well, I'm not goin', see?” he smiles without humor and shakes his head, fear welling in his stomach despite himself. “Tha' old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anyfing ta Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, an' you can ask 'em, they'll tell you!"

“I am not from the asylum,” Dumbledore lies again. His voice is patient and kind, but Tom is not fooled. “I am a teacher, and if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you--”

Tom cuts him off with a sneer. “I'd like to see 'em try.”

“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore continues, as if Tom had not spoken at all, “is a school for people with special abilities--”

“I'm not mad!”

“I know that you are not mad,” Dumbledore assures him. “Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

Tom freezes, his face expressionless in his moment of shock, but his eyes flicker between Dumbledore’s, searching for the lies that must surely live hidden within.

“Magic?” he echoes the man in a whisper, his eyes widening at the realization.

“That’s right,” says Dumbledore.

“It's.....,” he stumbles, the words thick in his throat and heavy on his tongue, "it's magic, wha' I can do?”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle in that strange way they did when he first entered Tom’s room. “What is it that you can do?” he probes softly and Tom’s head snaps up from staring at his hands in astonishment. A flush of excitement quickly rising up from his throat to live in his cheeks. He feels hot and cold suddenly, as if suffering from a fever.

“All sorts," he breathes, his eyes wide and almost unseeing. He is unmoving for a moment, body rigid and frozen, before he becomes animated again. “I can make fings move wifout touchin' 'em. I can make animals do wha' I want 'em ta do, wifout trainin 'em. I can make bad fings 'appen ta people who 'urt me. I can make 'em 'urt, if I want.”

His legs are trembling. He feels weak and faint. He stumbles back onto his bed and stares at his hands again, clasping them together and bringing them to his trembling lips as to pray. And so he does, his lips parting as he whispers a memorized prayer with reverence, the words falling from his lips more naturally than they ever have before, worship evident in his tone.

There is silence after he finishes his prayer, Dumbledore’s head bowed politely and respectfully. Tom’s dismal opinion of the man skyrockets and he forces himself to move on from his moment of faith.

“That was quite lovely, Tom,” Dumbledore says kindly once he’s noticed Tom is looking at him. Tom dips his head in acknowledgement and pushes on.

“I knew I was different,” he says, his voice quivering just like his fingers. “I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was somefing."

“Well, you were quite right,” Dumbledore smiles gently. "You are a wizard."

Tom has to bite around the lump in his throat, his little face contorting with a strange sort of wild happiness. His finely carved features look somehow rougher, his expression bestial in its intensity.

"Are you a wizard too?" he asks after a few moments, eyes narrowing when Dumbledore nods. He uses the same commanding tone from earlier, "prove it. Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raises his eyebrows, pleasant smile still in place. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts, you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir,'"

Tom changes his behavior accordingly and says in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, chief. Please, Professor, could you show me?" 

There is obvious amusement on the man's face as he nods and draws a long, thin stick from an inside pocket of his horrible maroon suit, pointing it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, giving it a casual flick.

The wardrobe begins shaking and bursts into flames. Tom surges to his feet, a cry of shock and betrayal leaving his lips. He bites back the urge to cry once more and turns on Dumbledore with his fists clenched at his sides. The flames flicker out before he falls too far into his anger, leaving the wardrobe and Dumbledore completely undamaged.

Tom ignores the man for favor of checking on this things, starting when the box of treasures begins shaking. He picks it up and turns to face Dumbledore. 

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" Dumbledore asks gently, as if speaking to a wild animal. Tom flushes and nods, an unnerved look on his face.

"I suppose so, chief," he admits after throwing the man a long, clear, calculating look, his voice expressionless as his face now that the initial shock has passed. "They take me fings too, they do. I've told 'em tha' I'll give it all back if they give me stuff back."

Dumbledore nods sagely. "Ah, I see. Alas, I must ask that you return them to their rightful owners. I shall know whether it had been done. And be warned: thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

"Yes, chief," Tom agrees in a colorless voice, still staring coldly and appraisingly at the man.

Dumbledore smiles at his agreement and leans forward as if telling a secret. Tom automatically leans away, his eyes cautious and calculating. Dumbledore's eyes flash with something Tom can't quite read as he does so, but the man doesn't let that deter him.

"I think you will find all of your things returned to you in the coming days, Tom," Dumbledore tells him warmly. "After all, we can't expect you to pack your things if you're not in possession of it all, now can we?"

Tom almost smiles. "No, chief."

"No," Dumbeldore agrees seriously, "we cannot."

"Professor, chief, where can I get one ov those?" Tom asks abruptly, pointing at the wand still clutched in Dumbledore's hand. The man blinks before he smiles again.

"All in good time," he says before tucking his wand away. "First, I rather think there are a few things I should explain, yes? At Hogwarts we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it too. You have - inadvertently, I'm sure - been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last for that matter, to allow you magic to run away with you. But you should know Hogwarts can expel students like any other school, and the Ministry of Magic - yes there is a Ministry - will punish lawbreakers more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, chief," Tom says for the second time. He gathers the stolen trinkets and returns them to his wardrobe, turning to gaze back at Dumbledore blandly, "I 'aven't got any dough."

"That is easily remedied," Dumbledore says, pulling a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on second hand. If it comes down to that, I would ask that you contact me by owl."

Tom blinks and take the offered money-pouch. "Thank you, chief," he says, taking out a golden coin to examine. "Where do ya buy spellbooks?"

"In Diagon Alley," Dumbledore reveals. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything--"

"Yer comin wif me?" Tom asks, slowly sliding the coin back into the heavy money bag.

"Certainly, if you need--"

"Do you 'ave ta?" Tom asks, interrupting the man again. He winces at how rude he's being to a man who will be in a position to make his life miserable for however many years it takes a wizard to finish schooling. "Sorry, chief, but I'm used ta doin fings for meself, I go 'round London on me own all the time. 'ow do ya get ta this Diagon Alley, Professor?"

For a moment, Tom thinks Dumbledore will insist upon accompanying him, but he's surprised. Instead, Dumbledore hands him the list of equipment, and after telling him exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage and how wizarding currency works, he says, "You will be able to see it, although muggles around you - nonmagical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember as he shares your name --"

Tom twitches at that, suddenly remembering something. Dumbledore eyes him with curiosity.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?" the man asks, but Tom shakes his head dismissively.

"Do you know if me fa'her was a wizard, Professor? 'e was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me," he says quickly, as if he could not suppress the question.

"I'm afraid I don't know," Dumbledore says, his voice gentle. Tom nods and accepts that as a 'no.'

"I don't know me mum's name," Tom says to himself, almost sadly, the wistfulness of his voice enough to make Dumbledore ache in pity. "So - when I've got all me stuff - when do I come to 'ogwar's?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope," Dumbledore gestures to the letter clutched in his small hands. "You will leave from Kong's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Tom nods, resisting the urge to check, standing when Dumbledore does. The man holds out his hand again and Tom takes it, an uncertain look on his face. "Chief, is it normal ta be able ta talk ta snakes? It ain't demonic, is it?"

Dumbledore blinks in surprise. "It is a lost talent, so it is quite unusual, but it is in no way demonic."

"I can speak ta snakes," Tom tells him, eyes dark and glinting with something he doesn't want to admit he feels: fear. "They find me, whisper fings ta me. Does tha' make me bad?"

"No," Dumbledore says firmly, another unreadable emotion flashing through his eyes faster than Tom can read them. "It is not the talent that makes a wizard good or bad, but the actions."

His tone is from and hard. Tom knows there is no moving him. For a moment, they stand there, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake it broken and Dumbledore is at the door.

"Good-bye, Tom," Dumbledore says cheerfully with a wave, "I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"Good-bye, Professor," Tom says politely. The door closes behind his future teacher and his gaze slowly returns to the letter clutched in his hands. With trembling hands, he unfolds the letter and reads it.

_ HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY _

_ Headmaster: Armando Dippet _

_ Dear Mr. Riddle, _

_ We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. _

_ Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July. _

_ Yours Sincerely, _

_ Albus Dumbledore _

_ Deputy Headmaster _

Tom almost panics when he reads the deadline for an acceptance letter - by _ owl? - _before he relaxes, confident that Dumbledore will inform the Headmaster of his decision to attend Hogwarts. His eyes skip down the long roll of parchment, stopping once he reaches the list.

_ First-year students will require: _

_ Uniform _

  * __Three Sets of Plain Work Robes (black)__
  * _One Pointed Hat (black) for day wear_
  * _One Pair of Protective Gloves (dragon hide or similar)_
  * _One Winter Cloak (black, silver fastenings)_
  * _Please note that all students’ clothes should carry name-tags at all times_

_ Books _

  * __The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1__ by Miranda Goshawk__
  * _A History of Magic __by Bathilda Bagshot _
  * _Magical Theory__ by Adalbert Waffling _
  * _A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration__ by Emeric Switch _
  * _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi__ by Phyllida Spore _
  * _Magical Drafts and Potions__ by Arsenius Jigger _
  * _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them__ by Newt Scamander _
  * _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection__ by Quentin Trimble_

_ Other Equipment _

  * __1 Wand__
  * _1 Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)_
  * _1 set of glass or crystal phials_
  * _1 telescope_
  * _1 set of brass scales_
  * _Students may also bring an Owl, a Cat, or a Toad (or other non-fatal pets)_

_ PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS. _

Tom reads the list three times before checking the time - Martha had gotten him a wristwatch as his birthday gift this year. He’s more than pleased to find that it’s only 12:02 PM. There’s plenty of time to complete his shopping before curfew - 7 o’clock on the dot every night. 

He carefully folds his letter and places it back into its envelope, tucking it away in his trousers before stepping out of his room. He ignores the staring and heads to the first floor, stopping once he reaches Mrs. Cole’s office door. He knocks politely and waits.

“Come in,” her slightly slurred voice says from behind the wooden door. Tom shrinks into himself a bit and opens the door, careful to keep his face as expressionless as possible. She’s meanest when she’s drunk on gin. Her eyes narrow in displeasure when she sees him. “What do you want?”

“I need tango shoppin fer school supplies,” he says calmly, holding up the bag of money. Mrs. Cole’s lips purse and she downs another glass of gin, smacking her lips together afterward. She nods and waves him off. He smiles blandly. “Thank you, Mrs. Cole.”

She grunts, concentrating on pouring another glass of gin. Tom slips out of her office, pulling the door shut behind him as he does. He returns to his room and pulls on his shoes and coat. From his bed sheets, Nagini pokes her head out and peers at him.

Her scales have dulled over the years, but the many shades of green are still beautiful to Tom. She’s much larger now too, almost as large as Tom’s arm. She’s quite frightening to the other children. They avoid her and, out of fear of Tom, keep her existence a secret from Mrs. Cole.

_ “'ullo, lovely,” _ Tom greets her with a smile. _ “Good mornin', nice ov ta wake up.”_

_ “Good morning, Tom,” _ she hisses groggily, her eyes cloudy with sleep. _ “It seems I have overslept.” _

_ “Yeah,” _ Tom agrees as he adjusts his shoelaces, _"ya__ missed a lot."_

_ “I did? Tell me then,” _ she says easily, sliding out of the bed to wind her way up Tom’s body. _ “What happened while I slumbered?” _

_ “I found out why I can do the fings I do,” _ he gushes, fumbling with his trouser pocket to show her his letter. _ “I'm magic, Nagini! Magic! An' I'm goin ta a school fer magic called 'ogwar's on the firs' ov Sep'ember! One ov the Professors - Dumbledore - brought me letter an' the lis' ov school supplies. I'm goin ta Diagon Alley ta buy 'em all right now if ya want ta come."_

_ “‘Diagon Alley’?” _ Nagini echoes, nestled under his clothes now, her head peeking out of his shirt collar. She peers at his letter politely even though she can’t read it, letting him gesture and point various squiggles out to her. He puts it away after going over the list once more and pets her under the chin, smiling when she hisses in pleasure. _ “I will go with you, Tom. How will we get to this this Diagon Alley?” _

_ “It's in London. Dumbledore told me where ta go, don't worry,” _ Tom tells her, stroking her head one last time before moving to the door. _ “We've got ta go ta the Leaky Cauldron ta get in. It's brilliant, Nagini! There's a whole o'her world out there! I can't wait fer Sep'ember.”_

_ “Well, I’m glad,” _ Nagini announces quietly as he goes down the stairs. _ “It is about time for you to be around people who will understand you.” _

Tom doesn’t say anything to that, doubtful that even wizards will be able to understand him. He exits the orphanage and begins walking in the direction Dumbledore claimed Diagon Alley resides in. Thankfully, the orphanage is fairly close to his destination already, so he doesn't have to do much walking. He slips through the many crowds easily, his small figure an advantage. He passes bookshops and record stores, boutiques and grocery markets, but nowhere that looks like what Dumbledore described to him. 

After a few more minutes of aimless walking, he finds a bench to stop by, surveying the line of buildings critically, searching for the correct one. He spots it and knows that if Dumbledore hadn’t explained its appearance in great detail he would have glanced over it. It’s a small, grubby-looking pub. Tom approaches it slowly, eyes flickering around to see if anyone’s watching him. No one even spares him a glance as he slips out of the cold, London air into the warmth of the Leaky Cauldron.

It’s very dark and drab inside, just barely shy of being shabby. There are old men and women sitting in corners, drinking from tiny glasses and smoking long pipes. There’s a low buzz of chatter that doesn’t stop when Tom barges in. In fact, the only person who reacts is the barman - Tom.

“Can I help you, kid?” he asks, his voice friendly and his face open. He drags a rag down the bar before throwing it over his shoulder, leaning forward on his elbows to smile at Tom. “Let me guess! You need to get into Diagon Alley?”

“Yes, chief,” Tom says politely and the barman laughs. He moves out from behind the bar and clasps Tom on the shoulder. (Yes, sir.)

“Well, come on then,” he says cheerily, steering Tom towards the back of the pub. They exit the warmth of the building and step back out into the cold. The barman walks up to a brick wall, pulls out a wand, and taps it three times. 

The bricks quiver and tremble and begin moving. A small hole appears and grows wider and wider as the bricks move and part. A second later, they’re facing a large archway opening up to a cobbled street that twists and turns out of sight.

“There you go!” Tom the barman says with a wide smile. “You go on through and come back this way when you’re done, yeah? I’ll know when you’re here.”

“Thank you, chief,” Tom says, dipping his head before stepping through the archway. He looks behind him just in time to see the hole in the brick wall close as if it had never existed.

Tom stares at the cobbled street in wonder, gripping the money bag in his hand tightly. As he stares, his eye catches a glimpse of something bright and shining. He turns his head slightly and eyes the cauldrons on display. _ Cauldrons – All Sizes – Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver – Self-Stirring – Collapsible _a sign display above them. Tom inhales deeply and decides this is where he’ll start his shopping.

He enters the small shop and purchases one pewter cauldron as the list dictates and stares wide-eyed when the bag containing his purchase begins floating in front of him. This, he quickly decides, is much better than carrying the bags himself. The shopkeeper tells him to tap it to set it on the ground and then twice more after that to make it resume floating. Quietly, he mumbles his thanks to the old man and leaves the shop. Then he stands next to the door and considers his options.

He needs to buy all of his supplies today; he only has two months to prepare for the upcoming year. Preferably, he’d like to buy all of his supplies new - like he did with the cauldron, after all, most cooking utensils have to be bought new and potions can’t be much different from cooking, can it? However, with the money he currently has, he knows he won’t be able to buy everything new.

Books, he decides, can be bought second hand, but only books. The rest have to be bought new or else his reputation will suffer unnecessarily. He nods to himself and starts searching the shops for one that sells wands. He wants to buy this first - just in case. After a few moments of wandering around, he spots it. It’s a small and narrow shop with a sign that says with lovely gold letters _ Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC. _There’s one wand on display in the window.

Tom quickly enters the tiny shop, looking up when he hears the twinkling of the bell attached to the door. He knows it is there to alert personnel of customers, but in this tiny, quiet shop it seems too loud and Tom feels unnerved and on edge for being the cause of the noise, as if he’ll be punished for it. He stares blankly at the thousands of narrow boxes sitting on rows of shelves, quickly turning around when the hair on the back of neck stands up in alarm.

“Good afternoon,” says a soft voice emerging from the shelves. Tom turns slightly and meets the pale, wide eyes of an old man. “Hogwarts, yes?”

“Yes, chief,” Tom says politely, tapping his shopping bags as he does. “I'm here fer a wand?”

“Yes, I imagine so,” the old man says sagely, gliding forward, closer to Tom. He stops just a few feet before him, pale eyes gleaming strangely. “Yes, yes, you remind me much of her.”

“‘’er’?” Tom repeats, head tilting to the side, eyes tracking the man warily. “I'm sorry, who are you talkin' about, chief?”

“Your mother,” the man says simply, as if it means nothing, but Tom is frozen.

“Me mum?” he asks breathlessly, but the man is muttering under his breath, ignorant of Tom’s current turmoil.

“Hawthorn, unicorn core, 8 ½ inches, rather rigid, wasn’t it? Yes, yes, it was. Rather loyal, wasn’t she? Yes, but what of her son? Unicorn is out of the question, that is obvious, isn’t it? This will be an exciting match for sure ...now which should we try first?”

He almost turns away from Tom before pausing, looking almost as if he could slap himself. Tom feels concerned.

"Chief? Are you alright?" he asks warily, but the man waves him off. He produces a long tape measure with silver linings and returns to his spot before Tom.

"Which is your wand arm?" he asks. Tom opens his mouth to answer, but he hesitates. Ollivander's eyes narrow. "The first hand you've ever written with, the one that feels more natural, which is it, Mr. Gaunt?"

Tom blinks at the name and holds out his left arm, barely holding back a flinch when the man takes it and begins taking measurements. The women at his school used to beat him for writing with it. 

(Sometimes, they still do.)

As the old man measures, he speaks, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of powerful magical substance, Mr. Gaunt. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are quite the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand."

Tom is actually very interested. "Do the woods 'ave anyfing ta do wif how well the wands work, chief? Do the cores 'ave specific types ov wood they match bes' wif? Does leng'h matter at all?"

Ollivander completes his measuring and answers Tom quickly, his voice creaky but warm, "Why, yes, Mr. Gaunt, the wand wood does have a great deal of impact on the core and vice versa. They have to be matched just right for every wood and core is different from their peers, so to say. And no, the wand length has nothing to do with the actual function of the wand. Why, your wand could be as short as seven inches and be rather powerful."

"Oh," says Tom simply, mulling that over in his head as Ollivander putters away to the shelves, mumbling to himself all the way.

He returns later with many boxes cradled in his arms. He places them on his front counter and opens one, holding the wand contained inside out to Tom.

“Oak, dragon heartstring, 10 inches, rather bendy," he murmurs, pushing the wand into Tom’s hand. Tom holds it limply and the man gestures. “Go on now, give it a whorl.”

Tom tries to do so, but Ollivander snatches it out of his hand before he can.

“Definitely not!” he says, a glint in his pale eyes.

This process repeats itself many times, but while Tom grows annoyed, Ollivander grows excited.

"Tricky, tricky customer, eh?" he asks rhetorically with a wide smile on his wrinkled face. His already unseeing eyes become more unfocused and he nods to himself. "We'll find the perfect match for you yet, Mr. Gaunt! Now I wonder…"

He disappears once more, bypassing the line of wand boxes and shelves to go into the back. He returns mere moments later with a box clutched in his small hands. He stares at Tom blankly as he takes the wand out and holds it out to him. Warily, Tom takes it.

As soon as the handle of the bone-white wand touches his palm, a warmth he's never felt before floods through his arm and into the rest of his body, making him feel safe. Then something electric and buzzing follows it leaving him raw and ecstatic. A stream of green and silver sparks bursts from the tip and rains down to the floor, disappearing before they touch the stone. 

Ollivander claps and cries, "Bravo! Very good, very good, indeed. Yes, it is a very good match. Yew, phoenix core, thirteen-and-a-half inches, not quite so rigid as hers, rather bendy actually. How curious."

Tom wants to probe and question the man about his mother and the name the man keeps using to refer to him, but Ollivander is already scurrying away to his front counter and all Tom can do is pay the man and exit the store in defeat with his floating bags in tow. He decides, after a few moments of deliberation, to research the name as soon as he's able.

He can't linger on these thoughts for too long; he still has a bit of shopping to do, so he squares his shoulders and begins backtracking to the other shops he'd spotted on his way to Ollivander's. He enters the ones containing the things he needs and quickly buys all of his school supplies - and a rather nice second hand trunk that he uses to store his purchases in, tired of constantly having to reactivate the levitation charms on the bags. 

Then he backtracks to the robe shop near Ollivander's. He finds it easily enough and rests a hand on the door handle. He checks his money bag and - emboldened by the rather substantial amount of money left after all of the shopping he's done - opens the shop door.

With a haughtiness an orphaned boy should not possess, he steps into the shop and awaits service. A small, squat woman smiles at him and gestures for him to stand on a footstool. She’s busy with another future student, so she calls one of her assistants to measure Tom. 

Once she’s sure Tom’s being cared for adequately, she turns back to her customer - a curly, black-haired boy with a closed off expression and piercing black eyes. One look and Tom knows the boy is already looking down on him. Simply for the clothes he’s wearing. Idly, he wonders what the other boy would be like once he hears Tom’s accent. He knows he won’t be nice.

“Hello," the boy says after a few moments, "Hogwarts, too?"

Tom sneers, head tipping back to look down his name at the boy. "Obviously," he says slowly, letting his voice drag unnecessarily so the boy will know how absolutely stupid he found the question. "Where else?"

It's a subtle dig for information - one he's sure the boy won't pick up on and he's right. The boy doesn't pick up on it. He flushes at Tom's condescending tone and straightens his back, mouth opening to answer his question.

"Quite right," he says with an air of importance he doesn't possess just yet. Honestly, it's almost cute. "Hogwarts is the best wizarding school. I suppose Durmstrang is a close second, but they hardly accept anyone these days what with the rising Dark Lord. Beauxbatons is only for women currently. And Ilervmorny is in _ America. _"

Tom nods his head, his eyes at half-mast as he listens to the boy prattle on. He's grateful that the boy is so absorbed with himself. It's making it much easier to get answers from him. He makes a note of the schools the boy mentioned in his head. He'll have to read about them later.

"What do you think?" the boy asks and Tom blinks, shifting slightly for the young woman taking his measurements. He smirks slightly.

He knows his accent will make this boy look down on him, but if he plays it just right, he can make him look pass that. Tom already has a great amount of control over his magic and that alone should gain him some respect from his peers. If that doesn't work then fear will. Fear, he knows intimately, is a wonderful motivator.

"'ogwar's is obviously the bes' out ov all four ov 'em, though I suppose Durmstrang wouldn't be too bad," he says, smirk widening at the boy's widening eyes. "I wouldn't even consider goin ta Ilervmawny."

"What," the boy begins, "_ is _ that accent?"

Tom snorts. "I don't know, it's jus' me accent. Lots ov people in London sound like this, you know." 

"So you're a mudblood then," the boy sneers and Tom let's the smirk widen again.

"I didn't say tha', did I?" he says pleasantly, letting the words fall from his lips like honey. "Why would it matter if Inwas anyhow? s'long as I'm poweful, I don't see the point in carin'."

The boy pauses, eyes thoughtful, before nodding reluctantly. "I can see your point."

"Good," Tom says, the slow curl of his lips still present. "Maybe we can be friends then."

"Maybe," the boy says neutrally, but Tom can see the glint of interest in his eyes. "What house do you think you'll be in? I expect I'll be in Slytherin, all of our family has been so far."

"Notnsure," Tom answers, voice and face expressionless. "I don't fink I really care. I jus' want ta learn all I can while I'm there."

"Ravenclaw then," the boy drawls. "That's a very good attitude to have about your schooling, I suppose. Hard-working, almost. Hmm, maybe Hufflepuff?"

He says the last word slowly, with just a hint of amusement coloring his tone. Tom shakes his head and laughs accordingly.

"I fink I'd chip, wouldn'tnyou?" he asks and the boy blinks, eyes confused for just a moment before his mask is back in place. He nods.

"Have you got all of your supplies yet? It's still rather early for shopping, but my mother believes in that stupid muggle saying," the boy scoffs. "I don't understand her sometimes."

"Early bird gets the worm?" Tom says before he rolls his neck in an attempt to stave off restless energy, eyeing the black-haired boy with cold eyes. "I've bought all ov me supplies fer the year."

The boy blinks. "By yourself? Where are your parents?"

"Dead," Tom says slowly, a mocking smile on his face. The boy's expression stutters before settling on a blank one.

"My condolences," he says shortly. Tom inclines his head to show he appreciates the sentiment and they both lapse into silence while the women measuring them finish up.

Fortunately, Tom is finished first. He steps down from the footstool, places his order, pays, and then makes his way to the door, tapping his bags as he does. On his way out, the boy drawls, "I suppose I'll see you at Hogwarts."

Tom turns his head slightly to acknowledge the boy before slipping out into the streets of Diagon Alley. He's still got a little money left, so he spends it on a few more books about the wizarding world - _ A Guide of Manners and Proper Etiquette _ by Lililtian Brown and _Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born, Why Does It Matter? _ by Zacharius Fawley. 

With these last two purchases, he's left with only a few Galleons left. Enough for another wand if he so desires, but not for anything truly useful. After some careful deliberation, he heads towards the large building he saw when he first entered the Alley - Gringotts Bank. The snowy white building towers over the rest of the Alley and standing beside its large burnished bronze doors is a small humanoid creature with long teeth and even longer fingers. He's almost two heads shorter than Tom.

Tom approaches the door and the strange little creature bows to him as he enters. Tom blinks and returns the gesture with a confused pinch to his eyes. He doesn't see the creature's reaction to this unintentional show of respect, eyes focused not on the creature but on the inside of the building.

There's a second set of doors, these are silver and taller than the first set. Engraved on them in tiny cursive letters is a message:

_ Enter, stranger, but take here _

_ Of what awaits the sin of greed, _

_ For those who take, but do not earn, _

_ Must pay most dearly in their turn. _

_ So if you seek beneath our floors _

_ A treasure that was never yours, _

_ Thief, you have been warned, beware _

_ Of finding more than treasure there. _

It's an intimidating warning, but Tom doesn't let it deter him. He walks through the door, returning the bows of the two creatures guarding it before entering a large marble hall. Hundreds of the little creatures are sitting on high stools, counting, weighing, and inspecting gold and other treasures. There are what seems like thousands of doors lining the walls, but even more of the little creatures are showing people in and out of them. 

Tom pushes down his awe and makes for the counter. There's a fierce looking creature sitting behind it with sharp eyes and a clever face. When he spots Tom, he curls his long spindly fingers over the counter and leans forward to look him in the eye. Tom quickly bows - that's the appropriate greeting, isn't it? - before meeting the creatures gaze. He's staring at Tom in blatant shock. He blinks and quickly gathers his composure once more. When he speaks, his voice is low and throaty, but it's not as gruff as Tom first believed it would be.

"How can I help you, young sir?" he asks and Tom shifts nervously, cursing himself for showing it outwardly. He wipes his face clean of any emotion. 

"''ow much dough do I need ta open an account?" he asks politely. The creature blinks and picks up a quill in one hand.

"Opening a vault costs ten Galleons, young sir," he tells Tom, "but a blood test is only five."

"'Blood test''?" Tom echoes. "I'm sorry, wha''s a blood test?"

"A blood test, young sir," the creature begins, 'is a test you can take here that will tell us your bloodline. It will tell us if you are eligible to claim any heir-ships or locked vaults."

"I see," Tom says before he pulls five Galleons out of the money bag. He hands them to the creature. "I'd like ta take one then."

The creature accepts the Galleons, sliding a piece of parchment and a red quill over to him. Tom takes the quill in his left hand, slightly nervous, and looks to the creature for guidance.

"Write your full name at the top, young sir," he says patiently, putting the money away. "The quill will use your blood as ink, so don't be alarmed when the back of your hand stings."

Tom nods and writes his name as nearly as he can, ignoring the pain in his right hand. Once he's done, his name is written in a very nice, clean script at the top of the parchment. He sets the quill down. The creature takes both the parchment and quill, examining the parchment with serious eyes. His eyes widen and he quickly jots something down, pressing a button next to him. He then hands the parchment to Tom. 

_ Tom Marvolo Riddle _

_ Mother: _ _Merope Gaunt (Pure-blood)_

_Father: Unknown (Muggle)_

_ Eligible Heirships _

_ Slytherin _

_ Peverell _

_ Gaunt _

_ Vaults _

_ Slytherin Vault - #4 _

_ Galleons: $467,883,222 _

_ Sickles: $2,456,789 _

_ Knuts: $236,902 _

_ Peverell Vault - #348 _

_ Galleons: $234,567,332 _

_ Sickles: $199,513 _

_ Knuts: $3,455,566 _

_ Gaunt Vault - #506 _

_ Galleons: $0 _

_ Sickles: $0 _

_ Knuts: $0 _

Tom's mouth drops open in shock and he quickly places the parchment back onto the counter, his eyes wide. The little creature at the desk gives him a sympathetic look and he rasps, "Wha' do I do now?"

"You, young heir," another croaky voice says from behind him says, "will be coming with me."

Tom turns around to face a creature with light hair and eyes, his face more aged than any of the other creatures in the room. He smiles at Tom, his needle thin teeth longer than the other creatures as well. 

"My name is Slakfang," the creature says, "and I'll be the one to answer any questions you may have. If you'll follow me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. This chapter is far longer than I thought it'd be. I had to cut it in half, actually. Well, you guys get more content! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you thougt in the comments!
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ)
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)


	5. to be talking to you, belladonna

Slakfang putters around his office for a few moments before finally taking his seat behind it. He places a few papers down in front of him and takes a quill in hand, looking expectantly at Tom. Tom sits and folds his hands in his lap, waiting for the creature to begin.

“I assume you have questions?” he asks, tapping his sharp claws on his mahogany desk impatiently. Tom nods and pauses to think.

“Do I 'ave any livin' family?” he asks after a moment.

The creature nods. “You do, though I’m afraid it’s impossible to visit him. Your uncle - from your mother’s side - is currently in Azkaban.”

“‘Azkaban’?” Tom repeats the word slowly, head tilting to the side as he tastes the foreign word. The creature nods solemnly.

“It’s the wizards’ prison,” he says, disgust prominent in his creaky voice. “The Dementors guarding it make visitations nearly impossible, especially for children your age.”

“Oh,” Tom says. “Why is ‘e in? What'd 'e do?”

The creature pauses, eyes roving over the paperwork in his clawed fingers. “Ah, he attacked a muggle by the name of Tom Riddle - your father, no doubt.”

“Is me fa’her still alive?”

“He’s not in our records nor is he part of our world, young heir,” the little creature explains. “If he is alive then we wouldn’t know.”

Tom accepts this with reluctance and nods. “Okay, movin on then; is all tha' dough mine?”

“Indeed, young heir, it is,” the creature croaks and Tom leans forward. “You’re set to inherit it all in full on the day of your majority. For now, you’ll have to wait unless your magical guardian permits it.”

“I don't ‘ave a magical guardian,” Tom frowns, displeased. “I live in a muggle orphanage.”

“I see,” the creature taps his desk with his long claws and purses his lips, his sharp, wrinkly face thoughtful. “Then there is nothing the Gringotts' Goblins can do to help you, young heir.”

“Oh,” Tom hesitates, mind briefly fixating on the creature’s revealed species. “Can I do anyfing? Or do I 'ave ta wait? When will I reach me majority?”

“Yes, you will have to wait,” the goblin frowns, evidently displeased. “We tend to stay away from Wizarding affairs - we’re a neutral party - and there are laws in place to prevent our aid as well. We could certainly bring attention to your predicament, but the Ministry would take over. They’ve become rather incompetent over the last few centuries, so I’m not certain they would do you much good.”

“There's nofing I can do?” Tom persists, desperate for a way out of the orphanage.

“The only thing you could do is file for emancipation and you won’t be eligible for that until you’re at least fourteen years of age,” Slakfang’s face creases more, his frown deepening. He taps his long nails on his desk again, nose scrunching up as he sniffs in disgust. “Even if you do file, your request won’t even be considered until you take your OWLs, which will be very difficult considering your upbringing - unless you study like a mad man and make a few…._ connections, _so to say. It will be extremely difficult. Someone of your current social status won’t be able to accomplish such a feat in three short years.”

“I'll 'ave ta wait til my majority then,” Tom concludes, deflating inwardly. He closes his eyes, allowing himself this small moment of grief before he straightens. “Can I at least change my last name? Or do I 'ave ta go ta the Ministry fer tha' too?”

Slakfang grimaces, looking slightly sympathetic, nodding. Tom exhales out of his nose, plastering on a smile. He stands slowly and bows to the goblin once more.

“You'll see me once I become ov age then," he promises, raising an eyebrow at the creature, “which is….?”

“In six years, young heir,” Slakfang nods, returning the show of respect, an almost fond look in his beady eyes. Tom gives him a closed smile, one that just barely forces his lips upward and slips out of the office. He exits the bank and glowers darkly at his feet, rage simmering in his dark eyes.

_ Seventeen, _ he thinks to himself, _ I just have to wait until I’m seventeen. I can do that. What’s six years compared to eleven?_

_ “Tom,” _ Nagini hisses, peeking out of his shirt blearily. _ “What is wrong? You smell of anger and sadness.” _

_“Nofing's wrong,” _he assures her, hissing quietly as his eyes search for any eavesdroppers. _“I jus' found out some malarkey tha' I didn't really like is all. I'll be okay, I promise._ _Go back ta sleep, yeah?"_

_ “If you are sure,” _ Nagini says after a moment of deep consideration on her part. _ “If you have need of me, I will be here.” _

_ “Thank you, Nagini,” _Tom murmurs, biting the inside of his cheek to keep the sudden tears at bay. He sniffs and wipes his face clean of all emotions, ignoring the blood pooling in his mouth. He sets off towards the Leaky Cauldron, desperately yearning for one of Martha’s songs and maybe one of his favorite candies.

* * *

Tom stands in the foyer of the orphanage, impatiently waiting for the cab Mrs. Cole had reluctantly called for him. He shifts almost anxiously, hyper aware of the eyes boring holes into his back. He grimaces, his eyes narrowing in disgust and no small amount of hate. They’re probably whispering and giggling over his departure, so happy that he’ll be gone that they’re celebrating. He hates them all so much. He can’t wait to leave.

He tenses when he hears footsteps from behind him, relaxing immediately when he hears a soft, familiar voice accompanying them. 

“What are all of you doing out here?” she asks the others in a kind voice she reserves for the smaller children. The other orphans stutter, unable to adequately answer her before scurrying away. She sighs and comes to stand in front of him, crouching to be at his eye level. “Do you have everything, love? All of your socks and underwear? What about your toothbrush?”

“Yeah,” Tom suppresses a grin, hard demeanor softening under Martha’s attention. “I've got everyfing.”

“Oh good,” she smiles at him, hands fluttering to fix his shirt and brush his hair out of his eyes. “You look so handsome, Tom. You’re going to have to beat everyone off with a stick before too long.”

Tom scrunches his nose up in disgust, obligingly turning his head so Martha can scrub a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “'opefully they'll control themselves so I won't 'ave ta."

“I doubt it, love,” Martha laughs softly, hand cupping his cheeks. She bites her lip, blinking rapidly, and sniffs. “Oh, you’re so grown up! It seems like you were asking me to read to you just yesterday.”

Tom leans into her touch, eyes fluttering shut, the comfort he feels around Martha swelling in his chest. She sniffs again and pulls him into a hug, pressing kisses on his head, her shoulders shaking. 

“I love you so much,” she says wetly, sniffing, rocking them back and forth. Tom wraps his arms around her neck and swallows around the lump in his throat with some difficulty. “I’ve always seen you as my own, you know that right? You’re _ my _boy, Tom, my son.”

Tom unsuccessfully suppresses a hiccup, tears leaking from his closed eyes despite his best efforts and Martha begins humming, rubbing soothing circles on his back as she rocks them. He presses his face into her neck, likely getting his tears on her dress collar, but he knows she doesn’t care. His hands clutch at her back, wrinkling the fabric of her dress. Martha keeps humming. It’s a familiar melody, the same one she used to hum for him when he had nightmares.

(He knows he should tell her he loves her as well, tell her that he’s always seen her as a mother, that he’s always wanted to be her son, but he can’t. The words rise up his throat and settle in his mouth like lead, leaving his tongue heavy and unwilling to cooperate. So, instead, he clutches at her desperately, trying to convey his feelings with his embrace and he knows she understands. She always has.)

“Oh dear, look at the two of us, blubbering like babies,” she laughs wetly when she pulls away, wiping away the tears on their faces and hurrying to fix his hair again. She sighs, the smile falling off of her lips like water off a duck’s back. Her hands slide from his hair to his shoulders and she musters up another smile - just for him. “You’re so good, Tom. I just know you’re going to do great things. I knew from the moment I saw you that you were special,” her lips tremble and she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead. “My special boy. I love you, Tom. You take care of yourself, you hear me? I want you home in even better condition than what you are now.”

“Okay,” Tom says, his voice breaking from the earlier emotional attack, “I promise. An' I'll tell you all 'bout it when I get back.”

“Of course you will,” she smiles again, this one stronger than the last. There’s a distinct sound of a cab pulling into the orphanage’s driveway and her face falls. She stands, smoothing Tom’s hair over one last time. “There’s your cab, love. Come on now, I’ll walk you out.”

“Yes, Martha,” Tom says quietly, taking her offered hand. She smiles again and walks him out, one hand holding his while the other pulls his trunk - he’s immensely glad that he got one with wheels. Tom waits as she helps the man driving put the trunk away in the back, staring at the poor paint job on the cab. “I'll write ta you," he declares when she’s standing before him again. “Every week, yeah?”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, love,” she tells him with another smile just for him. “Hurry up now, you wouldn’t want to miss your train, would you?”

Tom shakes his head and climbs into the cab, staring morosely out of the window as they drive away. Martha waves at him, her eyes red but her smile bright.

(Maybe he doesn’t want to leave.)

* * *

The ride to King’s Cross is shorter than Tom originally expected it to be, but that’s mainly due to the man’s wild driving. Tom sneers as he exits the cab and gathers his luggage, tugging hus trunk behind him after he’s given the man the required money - Mrs. Cole had given it to him, surprisingly enough, so it wasn’t coming out the allowance Martha gives him. He strides through the crowd with an aura of confidence and arrogance rivaling that of a noble. The crowd parts for him easily enough and he quickly makes it to Platform 9. He glances at his ticket and eyes the wall between 9 and 10 suspiciously. Dumbledore had told him of Platform 93⁄4, but he's not sure if he believes it. Not enough to run at the brick wall in front of him, at least.

He steps forward and slides a hand across the wall, eyes widening when his fingers seep through the brick like there's nothing there at all. He glances around to see if anyone is looking at him before walking through the wall and into the Wizarding World. His eyes widen once more when he crosses over, the bustle of the train station before him jarring compared to the one he just left. He allows himself a few moments to be overwhelmed before he straightens his back and marches up to the train, nodding in appreciation when someone holds the door open for him. He quickly finds a compartment, thankful he left as early as he did, and pushes his trunk underneath one of the benches - after putting his robes on and taking a book out, of course. He sits and opens his copy of _Fantastic Beasts and Where To Find Them, _settling in for the upcoming train ride.

The train rounds a corner and he sees houses fly by through his peripheral vision, looking up to watch it all pass by in a quiet sort of wonder. He soon finds himself wondering if Hogwarts is as magnificent as all his books tell him it is, if it’s as grand and breathtaking as he hopes. He wonders if it will feel like home.

The door of his compartment slides open and he twists to look at who opened it, eyes widening marginally when he sees the boy from the robe shop with a huffy blond boy at his side. The boy’s dark eyes widen in surprise and he smiles widely at Tom, a direct contrast of how he was at the shop. It’s like he’s a completely different person. Tom returns the smile.

“I told you I’d be seeing you,” the boy tells him with delight, his voice triumphant as he turns his head to address his friend. “This is the boy I was telling you about, Abraxus!”

Abraxus sniffs. “The mudblood, you mean?”

Tom stiffens before he smiles as if nothing happened, the movement natural and easy. Robe shop boy looks positively ecstatic, but the blond looks anything but. Tom will have to fix that, won’t he?

“Oh, how rude of me!” robe shop boy gasps before bowing grandly. “I am Orion Black, Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

Tom inclines his head in a show of respect and acknowledgement, just as his books bid him to do and is rewarded when Orion gives him a beaming grin. Abraxus sighs in annoyance.

He bows stiffly. “I am Abraxus Malfoy, Heir to the Noble and Ancient House of Malfoy. A pleasure, I’m sure.”

Tom repeats the motion he used for Orion and gestures to the empty seats in front of him. He pointedly doesn’t point to the open space next to him. Orion’s smile widens again and he sits across from Tom, leaving the space directly in front of him unoccupied. Abraxus takes it reluctantly.

“‘eir Black, ‘eir Malfoy,” he says politely, “I’m Tom Riddle.”

“Tom Riddle!” Orion exclaims, his eyes darting to his companion. “So you really are a muggleborn? Or are you a halfblood?”

Tom hesitates for a brief moment, his father’s name resting on his tongue before he swallows it down. “I don't know,” he confesses. “Me mum died when I was jus' a baby an' I don't know who me fa'her is. It don't matter, does it?” 

Orion nods and accepts his answer easily enough, but Abraxus looks disgusted. He sniffs derisively and picks at his nails.

“Really, Orion, I don’t know why you insist on including me in your little _ games,” _he says the last word slowly, drawing it out and holding it in his mouth, mocking and judging. “I can practically smell the filth in the air.”

Tom doesn’t react outwardly - except for a little show of confusion and worry - and returns to his book. He can’t see the words clearly anymore - there's a red throb at the edges of his vision. Orion huffs in annoyance and smack his friend in the arm.

“Don’t be such a prat!” he scolds. “He could be really powerful, you know?”

“I’m sure,” Abraxus rolls his eyes and Tom exhales a sigh, shutting his book with a strained smile. He sets it to the side and waits for the two boys to focus on him. They do with respective amounts of friendliness and disdain.

“Do either ov ya 'ave any pets? I read we could take 'em ta 'ogwarts wif us,” he asks, easily forcing the words out in an anxious rush. Orion looks at him with a strange glint in his eyes before he smiles again.

“I don’t have any pets. I don’t really like animals very much,” he tells Tom. “They’re too dirty, but Abraxus has a hawk. His mum bought it for him.”

"I thought we could only 'ave a cat, owl, or toad,” Tom says with a frown, “won't 'e get inta trouble?"

Abraxus snorts and Orion gives him a short look before answering Tom. “No. As long as he can control it they won’t mind.”

Tom nods and makes a show of looking relieved. The strange glint from before returns to Orion’s eyes and he leans forward, interest clear on his face. He doesn’t say anything. Tom smiles at Abraxus.

“Ya really 'ave a 'awk?” he asks, shy. “Can I see it?”

“I suppose,” Abraxus says after a long moment before he reaches into his robes, pulling out a shrunken version of his trunk. He sets it on the floor of the compartment and pulls his wand out, tapping it twice. It returns to full size and he crouches down to open a specific compartment. He holds his arm out away from his body and whistles sharply. There’s a screech and the hawk flies out of the open compartment, landing gracefully on his forearm.

“Wow!” Tom breathes in awe, his eyes shining. “Can I do tha’?”

Orion smiles and pushes Abraxus’ shoulder, encouraging the boy to let Tom hold his bird. He sighs and does so, transferring the bird to Tom’s arm before reclaiming his seat. Tom grins widely, exposing his teeth.

“Dis is brillian'!" he exclaims excitedly. “I've never seen a 'awk before! It's wicked!"

“Yes, I doubt you have,” Abraxus muses, a smirk on his arrogant face. “After all, you’re just a filthy little mudblood-”

He’s cut off abruptly by a sickening crack that echoes in the small compartment like a scream, face going still and pale. Tom’s smile widens, exposing his gums, stretched a little too far on his angelic face. He looks bestial.

The hawk’s neck hangs limply, its body falling from its perch on Tom’s arm. His grin sharpens as Nagini slithers out of his shirt collar and up his neck, her tongue flicking out to tickle the skin below his ear, a low hiss leaving her. She glides forward, down his arm and to his lap where the hawk’s fallen, mouth opening wide to take its head in, gorging herself on Tom’s gift, adding to the fear permeating the room.

Even Orion looks scared though the glint in his eyes lingers.

“What's wrong?” Tom coos, his voice saccharine and soft. “Oh, I'm sorry, did tha' 'ur' yer feelin's?”

Abraxus doesn’t answer, his eyes focused on Nagini slowly working her way down his pet’s body. His eyes are tearing up, his mouth agape, and his cheeks dull with little color. Tom laughs harshly.

“I'd like fer you ta answer me when I speak ta ya, Abraxus," he hisses the boy’s name lowly, caressing the syllables with a sibilant tongue. His magic leeks out of him in wave, roaring as it descends on the still boy, coiling around him like Nagini coils around her prey, binding - just shy of suffocating. “Ya can do tha' fer me, can’t ya?”

The boy trembles at the raw force of his power, his pupils tiny pinpricks in the sea of silver. His body quivers and convulses, his lips open in a wet gasp. Tom smiles with too many teeth and leans forward, his shadow consuming the other’s like the lion consumes the lamb. He whimpers and screws his eyes shut, tears slipping down his cheeks like rain on a window pane.

Orion inches away from him and looks to Tom, his eyes blown wide with fear and something else Tom can’t quite name. Something that tastes like apricots and the fizzy juice drinks Martha sneaks him on his birthday. Something that makes bursts on his tongue like razzles and tingles like spices. Something that tastes delicious and makes the gaping hole in him _ wantwantwant. _

He ** _wants._**

“Abraxus,” he coos softly, his voice slow and sweet. The boy’s eyes snap open and he stares at Tom with terror. “Answer me. Did tha' 'urt yer feelin's?”

Abraxus stammers and winces, his voice a low whisper when he finally finds it. “Yes.”

“That's awful! I'm sorry!” Tom says with a sympathetic wince then his face morphs into one of hurt himself, a mean glint hidden deep within the chocolate of his eyes. He looks dastardly, villainous, dangerous. “But I jus' couldn't 'elp meself, ya know? Ya really 'urt my feelin's when ya called me names an' I jus' got so..._ angry."_

His magic swells, the last word of that sentence falling over his lips like poisoned honey, sickly sweet and deadly. His lips stretch in a wide smile that doesn’t quite fit on his youthful face, far too big and far too stretched, teeth bared and eyes wide. Abraxus doesn’t dare move, his chest moving in quick, panicked breaths, his eyes unwavering, refusing to move from Tom. Nagini hisses contentedly in his lap, the hawk now in its final resting place, her stomach swelled and distended. Abraxus whimpers, fresh tears slipping down the slope of his nose and over the gentle bow of his lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says quickly, voice hurried and rushed. Tom leans back and regards him with a considering look. Abraxus gasps when the magic tightens around him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Oh 'ush," Tom dismisses him with a wave of his hand, pleased when the Malfoy heir snaps his mouth shut immediately. The predatory smile is quickly replaced with a sweet look, a neat smile resting on his lips. “There's no need fer tha'."

“”m sorry,” he says one last time before clamping his lips together tightly. Tom gives him as deceptively soft look and chuckles.

“That's alright," Tom says warmly, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He stokes Nagini's head with gentle fingers, eyes warm and fond as they gaze down at her. When they rise to meet Abraxus’ again, the look is still there, but there is not any emotion behind it. It’s cold and dead and bitter. “We all make mistakes, don't we? An' tha''s one ya won't make again, innit?” 

“No,” Abraxus says quickly, his voice trembling with his body. “I won’t, I promise I won’t.”

“Good, tha''s good," Tom praises, kind smile slipping from his face. “You know wha' will 'appen if ya do."

“Yes,” he confirms with a shaky nod, his eyes wide and almost frantic. Tom chuckles to himself and withdraws his magic, letting it slowly slink back to his chest, swirling in the room lazily, like a cat’s tail flicking back and forth. 

Abraxus lets out an exhale of relief that shakes and trembles just as he does. Orion’s blissed look leaves his face slowly and he blinks as if he’s just woken up, sleepily looking around, his brow furrowing. Tom leans back into his seat and reaches over Nagini to pick his book up, opening it to where he left off.

_ “Tom,” _ Nagini hisses sleepily, her body lax on his lap. Their bond trums in contentment. _“Will there be more good meals like that at this magic school of yours?” _

_ “Ov course there will be, lovely,” _ Tom tells her, dark eyes observing the other’s reactions as he pretends to read. Their eyes are wide with shock and the same glint Orion had earlier - the one that tastes like apple juice and peach and all things nice and sweet - returns. _“I won't let ya starve."_

_ “Yes, I know, Tom,” _ she tells him indignantly. She rises from her coiled position and snaps at him playfully. Tom flicks his fingers at her and she rears up. _ “I only wanted to know if there would be more birds, you insolent human!” _

_ “Don't call me names," _ he says calmly. She hisses again and winds around his arm, her body comically large compared to his skinny arm. _ “Yer so mean ta me, Nagini, when all I do is love ya.”_

_ “Petulant child,” _Nagini hisses to herself, slithering up his sleeve to coil around his ribs, her swollen stomach just slightly noticeable under his robes, but she’s already a large snake - she’ll always be noticeable, at least until he learns how to shrink her. He sighs and returns to his book, eyes roving over the page on basilisks with great interest - it’s said Salazar Slytherin had one stashed away at Hogwarts.

“What house do you think you’ll be in?” Abraxus asks after a few long, stretched out minutes. His voice is hoarse and his eyes are puffy, but he doesn’t look as frightened as he did before; in fact, he’s staring at Tom with a similar look as Orion is. Tom preens and lowers his book slightly.

“I guess I'll be in Sly'herin,” he tells them easily, smiling neatly. He tilts his head to the side - movement akin to that of a feline. “I'm 'is 'eir ya know.”

“Not surprising,” Orion nods, but his eyes are wide. “You can speak Parseltongue, after all, and the Slytherin line _ is _famous for it.”

“Yes, it is,” Abraxus agrees, eyes considering. He observes Tom critically, flinching when Tom smiles at him in warning. “You must be from the Peverell or Gaunt line, though you’re far too...uh..._ pretty _to come from the Gaunts.”

“Da Gaunts? Peverells?” Tom probes for information, eager to know more about his familial connections other than their family names. “Who're they?”

Orion looks grim. “The Gaunts are - I’m sorry, _ were _ \- part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, but they went insane due to too much inbreeding and died out a few decades ago. The Peverells are a very old family; all that’s left of them is their descendants.”

“Yes,” Abraxus says, roving over Tom once more, “you could very well be descended from both of them, but your main line would have to come from the Gaunts. 

“I’m surprised they went outside of the family, if I’m being honest,” Orion confesses after agreeing with Abraxus. “They were fanatics about blood purity - they even refused to marry into other pureblood families! They were adamant on keeping the Slytherin line pure. Look where that got them.”

Tom hums and nods, fingers playing with the pages of his book. “Thanks fer tellin' me 'bout' 'em, I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” Orion replies accordingly, laughing slightly. Tom returns to his book and watches the two boys over the edge of it, eyes carefully observing and documenting their every move. Orion waits in silence for a few moments before he turns to Abraxus. “What house do you suppose you’ll be in? I’m thinking I might get Ravenclaw, after all.”

Abraxus snorts. “That’s preposterous, Orion! You’ll be in Slytherin just like every other Black before you - just as I will be placed there like every Malfoy before me. It’s simple. Really, there’s no need to make a fuss over which house we’ll be in when it’s already so obvious.”

“You’re probably right,” Orion concedes, shooting a glance at Tom. “I really want to be in Slytherin.”

“I do as well,” Abraxus says, mirroring his friend. Tom looks up and catches their eyes, mouth quirking upwards when they look away quickly.

“You can ask the Sortin' 'at ta put ya in the 'ouse ya'd prefer,” he tells them, chuckling when they gape at him. “Didn't ya know tha' already? I thought ya would - ya know, bein' purebloods an' all."

“Are you serious?” Orion gapes. “Can you really do that?”

“Yeah,” Tom confirms, "the 'at 'as ta take yer 'appiness inta account too. It won't put ya in a 'ouse ya'd be miserable in."

“That’s a relief!” Orion excalims, slumping in his seat dramatically. Abraxus rolls his eyes and points at the window.

“We’re almost there,” he says quietly. Tom closes his books and leans forward to look out of the window, noting that it seems like they’re slowing down. It’s dark now, he notes with displeasure, mouth twisting in disdain. When it’s dark, it’s cold and Nagini hates the cold - admittedly, he does too, but who can blame him?

He looks around, eyes focusing on the dark outline of forests and mountains in the distance. He looks up, startled, when a voice echoes in the train: _‘We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes’ time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately.’_

Tom sniffs derisively and pulls his trunk out from under the bench of the train, unable to stop himself from eyeing Abraxus and Orion’s trunks with envy. Abraxus catches his eyes and pulls his wand out, head bowed. He steps closer to Tom and taps his trunk twice, murmuring a spell underneath his breath: “Reducio!”

Tom memorizes the spell and mouths it in wonder. Quickly, he pulls his wand out and calls for Nagini, leveling the pale wood at her when she complies.

She hisses. _ “What are you doing, Tom? I thought we agreed no magic was to be used on me!” _

_ “Yer too bloody big fer me ta 'ide in me clo'hes," _ he explains, preparing his hand for the movement the charm requires. _ “Don't worry, I’m jus' goin' ta shrink ya."_

_ “Shrink m-” _ her hiss is cut off by him performing the spell. Her large form shrinks to the size of a wand on the larger side of the scale and he smiles, pleased. He hold his hand out and she slithers up it, curling around his neck to hiss in his ear. _ “You don’t have any manners, Tom!” _

_ “Sorry, lovely, but I 'ad ta," _he says soothingly, pocketing his newly shrunken trunk. He turns to his new “friends” with a smile. “Thanks fer showin' me tha', Abraxus, it's bloody useful!" 

Abraxus smiles. “You’re welcome! I’ll teach you the counter-charm once we’re in our dormitory, yes?”

“Thank you,” Tom inclines his head and steps out of the compartment, the others following behind him obediently. 

All of the first years on the train are funneled out into a clearing with a man waiting for them. He’s in a large overcoat and holding nothing but a lantern. He does a quick headcount and leads them to the lake where he pairs them up into groups of threes. Tom’s paired with Abraxus and Malfoy.

The small fleet of little boats move off all at once, gliding across the black lake easily and smoothly despite their decrepit states. The work of many, _many _charms, most likely. Everyone’s silent, staring at the grand castle before them in awe - Tom included. It’s everything he imagined it would be - and somehow more! It towers over them as they get closer and closer to it.

_ I’m here! _ Tom thinks in awe and a growing, heady excitement. _ This is really happening! _

Hogwarts greets him with a feeling of warmth that feels like Martha’s hugs - strong and soothing and stable. And Tom know he’s _ home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second half of the last chapter! I ended up adding a lot to it, so that's why it took so long! I'm sorry for the wait. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter! Let me know your thoughts.
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ)
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)


	6. shoulda taken a break, not an oxford comma

They’re lead into the truly breathtaking castle and filtered into the Entrance Hall - which is so large it could have easily fit the entirety of the orphanage in it. Its walls are lined with torches - much like Gringotts, actually - but the floors were of a different sort stone than the Goblin run bank. Unlike the smooth marble floors the greedy creatures favored, Hogwarts floor is rough and gritted - flagged stone.

Dumbledore awaits them with a gentile smile and that persistent twinkle in his eyes, expression warm and pleased as he gazes at the sea of first years. The groundskeeper inclines his head to the Professor and leaves the room, slipping into an adjoining one to their right where a low rumble of voices filters in. Dumbledore raises a hand to get their attention.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” he says. “The start of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your Houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your House will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your House, sleep in your House dormitory and spend free time in your House common room.”

He pauses, eyeing them as if to make sure they are listening before continuing, his voice stern and kind. “The four Houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each House has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your House points, while any rule-breaking will lose House points. At the end of the year, the House with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever House becomes yours.”

The sternness fades from his expression and mirth glitters behind the ever-present twinkle in his pale blue eyes. He smiles, amusement obvious in his expression.

“I know you are all quite eager to get Sorted,” he says amusedly, “and you are in luck! The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few short minutes. I suggest you ponder on which House will suit you best - and which one you’d like best - while you wait.”

His eyes look over them once more, lingering when they catch Tom’s, another smile curling his lips. The smile falters slightly when his eyes catch sight of the two boys flanking Tom - Abraxus and Orion - before it strengthens once more. Tom inclines his head and Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle brighter - how is that even possible?

“I shall return when we are ready for you,” he says. “Please wait patiently.”

He leaves the chamber and Tom’s eyes follow him before he focuses on his new "friends." The two are gossiping to each other about the teachers and other such droll, so Tom stays silent with half a mind to tune them out, just barely stopping himself in case they have valuable information.

They do not. It’s just as he expected - mindless gossip. He can’t really blame them - they are only eleven years old - but he still wishes they had something useful to say. He sighs and resists the urge to cross his arms as he waits, restless energy settling on his shoulders and seeping through his skin and bones to trickle into his stomach.

He’s brought out of this state of annoyance and pointless energy by someone hesitantly tapping him on the shoulder. He twitches and turns slightly to face whoever dared to touch him without his express permission, but his venomous words halt on their way up his throat, stuck in the back of his mouth, choking him. He swallows reflexively, a wave of something strange and warm and soothing flooding his chest.

Impossibly bright green eyes stare back at him, obscured by thin, circular glasses that Tom wants to rip from this boy’s face so he can see his eyes clearly. Those beautiful, beautiful, beautiful eyes that look otherworldly almost, ethereal and breathtaking. 

(Something dark and ugly inside of him wants to pluck them out of this boy’s skull and store them away so he can look upon them whenever he pleases.)

“Uh,” the boy stammers, biting his bottom lip nervously, brows furrowing anxiously, his expression fitful and his body language wary. Tom stares at him, lips parted and his eyes wide. “Your snake, uh, is, um, really pretty…”

_ “I like this hatchling,” _ Nagini hisses into his ear, tongue flickering over the lobe of his ear, pleasure clear in her tone. Tom twitches and raises his hand, forcing her to hide in his shirt collar. _ “He is polite - unlike you.” _

_ “‘ush,” _ he chides her softly, eyes never leaving the boy’s - such pretty, pretty eyes. _ “Stay down, yeah? I don't want anyone ta take ya away.”_

_ “Why’d they take her away?” _the boy asks, voice timid and unmistakably a hiss. Tom freezes and even Nagini stills, turning her head to face the nameless boy.

_ “You are a speaker,” _she hisses excitedly and the boy’s face scrunches up in confusion, eyes flickering to Tom, who’s in a strange, detached state of awe - a daze.

_ “Ya can speak ta snakes,” _he says, voice flat and the boy’s face scrunches further. He nods and Tom’s chest warms further. He shakes his head and clears his throat, plastering a smile on his face.

“Me name's Tom Riddle,” he says as warmly as he can - and it’s not even the slightest bit hard this time. “What's yours?”

The boy blinks rapidly before he smiles shyly. “I’m Harry Potter.”

“'arry Potter,” Tom breathes in wonderment, eyes crinkling as he smiles, the warmth in his chest permeating through his bones. “I fink we’re goin' ta be great friends.”

“Yeah?” the boy asks, face flushing in excitement and - Tom realizes - hope. He bites his lips and his eyes flicker to the floor before he looks up, a small smile curling his lips. “Can we be? Friends, I mean? I don’t know anyone here…”

“Ov course we can be friends, 'arry,” Tom smiles. “I already said we were goin ta be great ones, didn’t I?”

Harry’s smile widens and it fits so well on his face as if it truly belongs there - and Tom is in awe again, not quite sure what to do with himself in the face of such brightness. Harry almost looks like an angel.

(Something vulnerable and trembling in his chest - something he’s buried deep within the flesh of his heart and the rushing blood - latches onto that idea and whispers a fervent, _ ‘Icarus.’ _)

Tom’s about to respond, lips parting in preparation, when Dumbledore returns to the Entrance Hall, his gentile smile returning to his lips as he gestures for them to follow him. Harry glances at the man before his eyes cut back to Tom, an unsure look to his gait that makes Tom take action, clasping the other’s hand in his as easy as breathing, thrilled at the happy smile and pleased flush it earns him.

“The Sorting Ceremony is about to start,” Dumbledore announces and the first years stumble over themselves in their haste to follow him through a pair of double doors that lead to the fabled Great Hall. 

Tom can’t quite keep the noise of astonishment from leaving his throat, but neither can anyone else. Beside him, Harry gasps and his hold on Tom’s hand tightens briefly. And when Tom looks at him, his face is open and full of wonder - he wants Harry to look at _ him _like that. Tom shares in his wonder and awe and amazement. 

The Great Hall is like nothing he’s ever seen before. It’s such a strange and splendid place and it’s so large that it feels like it will never end. Thousands and thousands of candles float above them, held steadfast in the sky and clouds, cradled by magic and simple words, an enchanted wonder. 

Four long tables sit before them, adorned with glittering plates and shining silverware, their benches filled with students of all ages and ethnicity, distinguished only by the alternating colors of their robes. At the end of the Hall sat a long table - vertical while the four before them are horizontal - where the teachers sat and talked amongst each other, smiling at the eager and anxious first years. Dumbledore leads them up there, so that they stood in a crowd before the four tables, waiting for their Sorting. 

He breaks away from them and takes his place next to a stool, hands folded over his robes as the Hat seated on the stool begins moving and then begins _ singing. _It’s a short song that falls just short of rhyming all the way through and - even though the Hat is offkey - the Hall descends into applause after its finished.

“I heard someone say we were going to have to wrestle a troll,” Harry whispers to him, voice hushed and conspiratorial. Tom snorts quietly to himself. “I guess they lied.”

“Yeah, they were,” Tom tells him softly, “I read about the 'at. It's in_ 'ogwar's: a 'istory."_

Dumbledore clears his throat and pulls his wand out, waving it in front of his chest, catching the piece of paper it manifests easily. “When I call your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool to be sorted.”

He then proceeds to look at the list of names - that’s what the paper has to be, after all - and begins to call them out. As expected, Orion and Abraxus are Sorted into Slytherin. He gives the two a half-smile, pleased when they puff their chests up at the look, pride clear in their eyes. A few older students at the table eye him warily and he looks down, eyelashes fluttering coyly, a cruel smile playing on his lips, soft and promising.

(It seems he already has power in the House of Slytherin.)

Harry grips Tom’s hand tighter at this, a nervous look in his eyes. Tom smiles at him as reassuringly as he can, trying to communicate with his actions alone, uncertain of how to handle this otherwise.

“Do you think we’ll be in the same House?” he asks, voice timid and almost inaudible. Tom turns his head to look at Harry fully and smiles softly. He hums low in his throat and inclines his head to the Hat.

“Ya can ask it where ta place you in a 'ouse ov your choosin', ya know," he says gently, nodding when Harry looks at him in shock.

“Really? Are you sure?” Harry probes further, shoulders relaxing when Tom nods once again. He looks at the tables, at the Houses. “I don’t really care where I end up, I think, so long as you’re still my friend.”

“Well, do you want ta be in Sly'herin wif me? I doubt I'll end up anywhere else,” he asks and Harry smiles up at him, a wide grin that shows off his teeth and makes Tom’s stomach flutter strangely.

“Definitely!” he says with a decisive nod, determination trickling into his green eyes. Tom chuckles to himself and Harry flushes again. “I’ll ask the Hat to put me there, so you’d better be there too, Tom!”

“Don't worry," Tom assures him easily, “I will be.”

Harry beams at him, but his face falls when Dumbledore calls his name out expectantly. Tom urges him forward and smiles gently. Harry takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders before striding forward to the Hat, smiling shakily when Dumbledore places it on his head.

The Hat’s brow seems to furrow and its lips move, but the sound does not travel in the Great Hall, choosing to linger by them instead. Harry’s face is fixed into an expression of concentration and determination that does not waver as the Hat talks. After a few minutes - much longer than the first years before him - the Hat seems to sigh, opening its mouth with an air of defeat.

“Slytherin!” it bellows and Harry smiles slightly, a pleased curl of his lips, eyes bright as they look at Tom. Tom smiles and waves back when Harry does before making his way to the Slytherin table, taking more room than is necessary on the bench, unmoving when the first years around him sneer and push.

Tom smirks to himself at this and snaps to attention, waiting for his own name to be called, watching idly as the others hurry off to be sorted. He’s just getting irrevocably bored and annoyed when - finally! - his name is called. He strolls forward confidently, back straight and head held high, face blank as Dumbledore goes to place the Hat on his head.

However, unlike the other first years, the Hat’s barely even grazed his hair before it screams “Slytherin!” so loudly that even Tom is shocked and - unsettled. 

The students begin whispering to each other and Tom blinks - hard. He lifts himself off the stool and places his feet on the stone of the Great Hall firmly, face blank - eyes alarmed, unnerved,_ scared _\- as he approaches the table, mask breaking into a smile when Harry slides over to allow him to sit next to him. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Tom,” Harry says to him over the applause as another round of applause follows a first year’s Sorting. 

Tom smiles. “I'm glad yer 'ere too."

“Tom!” Orion calls out, rising from his seat further down, glaring at the first years sitting across from Tom and Harry until they move. Then he waves Abraxus over and they take their newly acquired seats. Orion smiles at Harry; there’s a sharpness to it that Tom doesn’t like. “And who are you? You’ve ensnared Tom so easily.”

Harry’s expression turns blank and he smiles at Orion; a bland, fake smile that makes him look like a porcelain doll. “My name is Harry Potter. Who are you?”

Orion blinks before he smiles once again, a dark glint in his eyes. “My name is Orion Black, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Harry murmurs, his upper lip curling slightly as if disgusted before he disguises it as a smirk. He turns to face Abraxus. “And you are?”

“Abraxus Malfoy, Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy,” the platinum blond drawls, raising an eyebrow at Tom, settling when he sees the warning look in his dark eyes. He gives Harry a tentative smile and there is real warmth within it, eyes darting to Tom as if looking for approval, relaxing when all Tom does is smile lazily.

“So,” Orion begins, eyeing the way Tom looks at Harry before he, too, settles down, “you’re Tom’s friend now, is that right?”

“Yes,” Harry confirms, relaxing minutely as if sensing the danger has passed, grinning when Tom nudges him with his elbow, gaining his attention easily.

“‘ush,” he tells them all, gesturing to the teacher’s table, “pay attention.”

The Headmaster - Armando Dippet - had gotten to his feet and began his speech. Unfortunately - or fortunately, depending on how you look at it - they had missed most of it. They only just managed to catch the tail-end.

“But, most of all, welcome!” he says grandly, arms raised. “Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Let the Welcoming Feast begin!”

He takes his seat once again. Everyone claps and cheers. Tom doesn’t know what the man's said, but he reluctantly claps with the rest of the student body. He presses his lips together and looks down at the table only to find the platters and goblets and plates filled with food. He’s never seen so much food in one place before: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roasted potatoes, chips, pudding, peas, carrots, and gravy. 

It’s almost overwhelming. He hadn’t exactly been starved at the orphanage, but he had never gone to bed with a full stomach and, as he looks to his new companion - _ Harry Potter, _ the ugly, dark thing says gleefully, _ come to die-- - _he knows he’s the same. He’s gone to bed one too many times with an insistent, stabbing hunger deep in his stomach. Tom moves and piles food onto a plate, setting it down in front of Harry before serving himself. 

Harry startles slightly at the sight of food before him before he grabs a fork and begins eating, cautiously taking a goblet and sipping at it slowly, face pinched at the unexpected taste. He sets the goblet - now claimed as his - down next to his plate and stares at it for a moment before returning his attention to his food.

Tom eats carefully and slowly, mindful of which foods he eats - anything too greasy and filling and he’ll be sick, this he knows - and how much he eats. He and Harry finish their meals - much smaller servings than what Abraxus and Orion are tucking into - and he takes a small sip from his own goblet.

“Pumpkin juice,” he says to himself, turning his head when Harry looks at him, holding his own goblet and giving it a skeptical look. “It's supposed ta be really good fer ya.”

“Is it? Really?” Harry asks, nose scrunched adorably. Tom snorts and nods, taking another sip from his goblet. “It doesn’t taste very good. Do you think they have water?”

As soon as the question has left his mouth, the liquid in his goblet has become clear. He blinks and stares at it uncomprehendingly before smiling widely.

“Wicked!” he exclaims happily and Tom agrees with him. Magic is wicked. Harry hums and drinks his water. Orion and Abraxus watch them in silence, finishing up their own meals before speaking.

“I hope we’ll room together,” Orion says suddenly, gaining the attention of Tom and Harry. He smiles dangerously. “I really think we’ll be the best of friends, don’t you, Abraxus?”

“Yes,” Abraxus agrees easily, “of course.”

Tom smiles slightly and dips his head just so, looking at the two from underneath his eyelashes, watching as their faces flush at his pleased look once more, the pride in their eyes obvious to all. He can feel the older Slytherin’s eyes on them, the calculating looks in their gazes and the appraisal on their faces. And he knows he’s already got two very influential people on his side.

There’s a chorus of gasps - Harry’s mouth drops open and he taps Tom on the shoulder, pointing at the double doors they came through - and when he turns to look he sees a crowd of ghosts trickling into the Great Hall - some smiling and waving and some scowling and muttering to themselves. There’s one that’s extremely eye-catching to Tom - the one with a gaunt face and robes stained with silver blood. He’s absolutely drenched with the substance.

One of the older Slytherins - a third year maybe - follows his stare and a slight smirk curls his lips. “That’s our ghost - the Bloody Baron. No one knows his real name or how he got covered in so much blood exactly, but I’m sure you can take a few guesses. Don’t worry about him though, I think you’ll find he’s really quite friendly.”

“Oh, come off it, Avery,” a boy next to him snaps irritably, a scowl twisting his lips. The newly named - dark blond hair, blue eyes, and a narrow aristocratic face - Avery rolls his eyes and turns back to his food. The other boy’s grimace deepens before he sighs and turns to face them. “Don’t listen to anything he says, alright? He just wants to scare you.”

“I gathered that much,” Tom says coolly, consciously speaking without his accent, dropping it with some difficulty. The words come out a little stilted and halted, but that thankfully works in Tom’s favor; it makes him seem unwilling to speak to them, judging almost. 

The nameless boy’s face goes blank and he inclines his head before turning back to his food. Tom dismisses him after that and returns his focus to Harry. The boy is watching wide-eyed as the food before them disappears - it seems everyone’s eaten their fill - only to be replaced with sweets and desserts, some of which Tom has never even seen, not even in the cookbooks kept in the kitchen at the orphanage.

Harry immediately takes a slice of treacle tart and begins eating it eagerly, an expression of bliss on his face. Tom hesitantly follows his example and take a slice of the tart, nibbling at it cautiously. He hums at the pleasant taste - slightly bitter, but still sweet - and quickly eats the rest of his slice happily. Harry eats another slice before he pushes his plate away from himself, resting his elbows on the table as he leans forward slightly, smiling when Tom looks at him.

“I hope we’ll be lead to our common rooms soon,” Orion sighs, bored. He picks at his nails before yawning. “It’s getting late and I need to write to my parents.”

Tom opens his mouth, practicing his new way of speaking, “I imagine they’ll be pleased that you were Sorted into Slytherin.”

It’s not exactly difficult to speak this way, but he finds himself wanting to shorten words and curl his tongue just so. Speaking without his accent is easy, but only when he’s doing it consciously. Thankfully, he used to practice at the orphanage, so he hopes breaking the habit will be fairly easy.

“They will be,” Orion nods, pleased. “As Abraxus mentioned before, the Blacks have always been in Slytherin. They’ll be pleased that I kept the tradition, as will Abraxus’ parents.”

“Yes,” Abraxus confirms, dabbing his mouth with a napkin elegantly before speaking. “We’ll have to find the Owlery, of course, but I can’t imagine it’s very far from the castle, if not in it.”

“Oh!” Harry perks up and smiles eagerly. “You can use my owl if you want. I don’t really have any letters to send and I don’t want her to be bored.”

Abraxus regards him coolly for a moment before he smiles slightly. “I might take you up on that offer, thank you.”

“You don’t have any letters to send?” Tom probes softly, regaining Harry’s attention easily. “Why’s that?”

Harry hesitates. “Well, I live with my relatives and they don’t like me very much. I think they’re just scared - of magic and all.”

“Oh,” Tom says. “That’s too bad.”

“What about you, Tom?” Harry asks, twisting in his seat slightly. “Don’t you have any letters to send?”

Tom is about to respond negatively when he remembers Martha. “Yes, I do.”

“Then you can use Hedwig too,” Harry says decisively and Tom smiles gratefully. Harry flushes and looks away. “I’m sure she’d like you. Do you think she’ll be okay? Where will they put her? In the Owlery?”

“The House Elves will put her and your trunk in your dorm room,” Abraxus says reassuringly and Orion nods.

“Useful little things, House Elves,” he says, sighing as he finishes his own dessert. “They’re the best at cooking.”

Tom opens his mouth to question him, but the Headmaster stands once again, an amused smile on his face when some Gryffindor upperclassmen groan. He raises a hand and the Hall falls silent, waiting for him to speak. Tom and Harry exchange a glance and turn to face the man, determined to pay attention this time.

“I know we are all tired and quite ready to head off to bed, but I have just a few more rules to go over with you all,” he says before straightening, taking on an air of authority. “First years - and upperclassmen as well - should keep in mind that the Forbidden Forest is as its name suggests: forbidden. That is, unless you are accompanied by a teacher.”

He eyes the Gryffindor table as he says this, briefly exchanging an exasperated look with Dumbledore as he does. The auburn-haired man simply smiles and the Headmaster shakes his head ruefully.

“The caretaker has also asked for no magic to be used in the corridors. I know this will be difficult, so I will not ask for absolutely no magic; however, I will ask for you to be aware of which spells you use,” he waits for a chorus of agreement from the students before continuing. “Thank you. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in trying out should contact Mr. Woodcroft. I’m sorry to say that first years will not be included in that number.”

A chorus of groans echoes in the Hall and a few teachers laugh good-naturedly at the obvious disappointment spreading through the first years. Tom’s group is not included in that number, though they do laugh to themselves at the expression on their House mates' faces.

The Headmaster clears his throat. “That is all. Now I wish you all a goodnight! Prefects, if you would begin leading the first years to their common rooms.”

Two upperclassmen at their table immediately stand - a boy and a girl with blank expressions on their faces - and gain the attention of the first years with a flick of their wands, green and silver sparks popping out of them. The girl speaks.

“My name is Leia Greengrass and my friend here is Adrian Pucey,” she says curtly, her lips pinched as she looks at the small crowd of first years - compared to the other Houses, they’re group is minuscule, barely a handful of students. “Follow us and make sure you’re paying attention as we go. We won’t be doing this again.”

The first years mumble their acknowledgment and she nods, spinning on her heel. Her companion follows her and they exit the Great Hall, the small group of first years trailing after them. Tom takes note of the portraits and the suits of armor they pass as they’re lead through the castle to the dungeons. Finally, the Prefects halt and stand by a stone wall - just a regular stone wall.

“This is the entrance to our common rooms,” Leia says shortly, her lips thin. “This wall here - remember it. There is a password you’ll need to know to get in. It changes every week; there’s a noticeboard in the common rooms you can look at to find out the new one. Don’t forget it and do _ not _share it.”

With that, she falls silent and turns to her companion, waiting for him to take the lead now. He smiles coyly at her and faces the stone wall.

“Magic is might,” he says and the bricks shift and move much like the ones in Diagon Alley did. He then walks through the newly made entrance with Leia at his heel, the group of first years filtering in after, anxious and excited once again.

The Slytherin common rooms aren’t what he expected them to be. While the room is dungeon-like in appearance, it still has an air of comfort and the lush furniture does nothing to dispel that air. Green-tinted lamps stand next to the couches - for reading purposes - and two armchairs frame the fireplace, turned away from the flames and facing the rest of the room. Off to the side, away from the comfort of the fire, there is a large glass window, looking out into the wildlife of the Black Lake. This should make the room feel cold and unwelcoming, but, somehow, it doesn’t. Tom feels strangely at home within these walls and one look to Harry confirms he feels the same.

“Slughorn - the Potions professor - is our Head of House,” Leia begins as soon as they settle down, voice curt and to the point. “Unfortunately, he couldn’t be here to welcome you, but I doubt that will stop him from doing so in the upcoming days. If you have any problems, come to us - or if it’s a more serious matter, you are always welcome to go to Slughorn himself.”

She pauses and Adrian steps forward with a bland smile on his face, his eyes dark and bored. He looks out of place somehow, but he also looks right at home - as if he could blend into the walls if he wished to. 

“Before we take you to your dorms, let’s go over the rules,” his voice is soft, the opposite of Leia’s sharp soprano voice. “First and foremost, we stick together. I don’t care what petty fights you have going on with each other so long as it stays here. As soon as you step out of these rooms, you leave all of that behind you. We present a front of unity to the other Houses because they, whether you like it or not, do not like us. Slytherin House has had more Dark wizards come out of it than any other House and that has left a mark on its reputation. The other Houses will not see you, they will judge you. Stick to your own.”

Tom keeps his face blank as he listens to the Prefect speak, but a wave of smoldering anger burns in his chest. Salazar Slytherin’s legacy left to this? To be judged by the other Houses simply because they’re too weak? Too close-minded? The very thought sickens him.

“Second, we do not tolerate weakness. You give your all. You will be an asset to us or you will be...taken care of, so to say,” he says the last part carefully, a mean glint in his eyes. His smile turns just a tad sharper. “Thirdly, do not tell any students from the other Houses the password and do not bring them here. They do not belong here. If they did, they would be here with us.”

Leia nods and clears her throat. “Do not forget any of these rules or there will be consequences. Now, girls with me. I’ll take you to your dorms.”

The few girls - only five - break off from the boys and tail after Leia with tense shoulders and bright eyes. Adrian watches her leave before he turns to face them, eyes roving over them before he gives them another tasteless smile. 

“Alright then,” he says, gesturing to the right, “follow me.”

He leads them down a long hall, stopping at doors with names on them and waiting for the first years to enter their new rooms. There’s only two to a room, which is both fortuitous and not. For one, it keeps Harry away from prolonged exposure to Orion - he hasn’t forgotten the way Orion had looked at him and he likely won’t any time soon - but it also limits the time Tom gets with them. It’s not really an issue, but he’d have liked a more closed setting with them and sharing a room would have been perfect for that. Thankfully, this won’t hinder his plans.

At the end of the hall - much like in the orphanage - is Tom’s room. He’s more than pleased to see Harry’s name below his on the mahogany door. Adrian doesn’t linger. He shows them the door and leaves them there, clearly expecting them to do as they’ve been told. Tom watches him leave passively and turns to Harry, offering the boy a small smile. Harry returns it with pink dusting his cheek and opens the door eagerly, letting out a happy noise when he sees the snowy white owl at the foot of one of the beds.

“Hello, girl,” he says in greeting, reaching through the bars to pet her breast, patting her ruffled feathers down, laughing when she nips at his fingers playfully.

Tom approaches behind him and eyes the owl warily, feeling Nagini slither down his arm. She’d been remarkably quiet during the Welcoming Feast considering the fact that they’d just discovered another speaker. But he just knows she's going to say something stupid. He can see it in the way she’s moving.

_ “Another snack?” _she hisses, tasting the air as she winds down Tom’s arm. Harry jerks and faces her with a shocked look on his face. Tom lets Nagini entangle herself in his fingers before clenching them in a warning. Nagini hisses angrily.

_ “She’s not a snack!” _ Harry cries out alarmed and Tom glares down at Nagini. _ “She’s my friend and you can’t eat her!” _

_ “I can,” _ she tells him and Tom exhales out of his nose in annoyance. He raises his hand and brings Nagini up to his face, meeting her eyes with his own. _ “Tom?” _

_ “Do not touch the owl,” _ he says authoritatively. She hisses and her tongue flickers over his nose. He ignores it. _ “She is Harry’s friend and she means a lot to him. If you ate her, it would hurt his feelings. Do you want to hurt his feelings, Nagini?” _

_ “No,” _she says and he can practically feel her pouting.

_ “Good,” _ Tom smiles at her before he adopts the stern expression once more. _ “The owl is off-limits.” _

_ “Yes, Tom,” _ she inclines her head and slithers around his neck when he lowers his hand to his collarbone. _ “I am sorry, speaker. Your owl will not come to harm. I will bite any foolish enough to try.” _

Harry blinks before he smiles. _ “It’s alright. Thank you, Nagini.” _

Nagini hisses but says nothing more. She slips back into Tom’s shirt and Harry turns back to his owl, smiling at her as he pets her, digging in his pockets for bits of meat and feeding her through the bars - he must have slipped some in his pocket while eating.

Tom moves to his own bed and digs through his trunk for nightclothes and toiletries, taking it in hand. He lets Nagini slither down his arm and rest on his bed before striding to the bathroom purposefully - every room has its own bathrooms, thankfully. He quickly prepares for bed and folds his dirty clothes carefully before setting them in the hamper, exiting the bathroom with his school robes thrown over his arm.

Harry smiles at him and enters the bathroom after him, clothes bundled in his arms. Tom hangs his school robes up on the hanger next to his bed, noting the identical one next to Harry’s. He closes his trunk after choosing tomorrow’s set of clothes and climbs onto his bed, forcing Nagini to move from her spot on his pillow.

Tom’s barely settled on his bed when Harry exits the bathroom, following Tom’s example and hanging his robe up beside his bed before crawling underneath the covers. He burrows into the fluffy pillow and lush blankets, sighing in pleasure at the feeling, echoing Tom’s feelings exactly. Tom climbs underneath his own blankets and curls up on his side, facing Harry’s bed, watching as the boy turns to him, glasses skewed on his face from when he rubbed his cheek on the silky pillowcase.

“Hey, Tom?” Harry whispers as the lights in the room slowly dim as if sensing that they’re ready for bed. Tom makes a soft noise in his throat and moves his head slightly, making room for Nagini to curl up on the spacious pillow. She’s lucky he’s a good bedmate or else she’d be dead.

“Yes, Harry?” he asks, Harry’s name feeling odd on his tongue as he suppresses his accent. Harry’s eyes narrow. He sighs to himself and places his glasses on the nightstand next to his bed. “What is it?”

“Why are you talking like that?” Harry asks and Tom closes his eyes, turning his face into his pillow and tugging the blankets up to his chin. “Is it because of the others? It doesn’t matter what they think, Tom. There’s nothing wrong with the way you talk.”

“I know, Harry,” Tom tells him, sighing, “but I’d rather not suffer because of it. We’re in the snake’s den, Harry, and speaking their language won’t get us through it unharmed. We need to learn how to act like them too.”

Harry shifts in his bed. “Oh, okay. That makes sense.”

“I’m glad you agree,” Tom says, smiling. Harry hums and the room falls silent, their breathing the only thing disturbing the still air.

“You don’t have to hide it when we’re alone,” Harry says after a while and Tom blinks open his eyes blearily, sleepily listening to Harry. “I won’t judge you for anything, Tom. You’re my friend.”

“Okay, ‘arry,” Tom says sleepily. "Yer me friend too.”

He can almost make out Harry’s smile in the dark. “Goodnight, Tom.”

“Night, ‘arry.”

Tom falls asleep, dreaming of strange objects - a diary, a ring, a diadem, a cup, a locket - and people wearing black robes, kissing the ground below his feet and worshipping his name, but only it isn’t his name. It’s a name he’s never heard before. A name that makes that small vulnerable part of him shriek and tremble with fury.

(_ ‘Voldemort,’ _ it spits hatefully, _ ‘you took everything from him - from us.’ _)

He dreams of red eyes and pale scaly skin, a sibilant voice that croons and cajoles, and a wand that looks just like his own but reeks of something dead and wrong. He dreams of empty bodies and large snakes and cold chambers. He dreams of a cold and high laugh - a burst of green light, a screaming child, and a burst of soul-tearing agony.

He wakes up after that, screams ringing in his ears, shaking and sweating, body cold with fear and anger. Nagini hisses a few comforting words to him - he had nightmares often at the orphanage - and he rolls over and falls asleep once more.

When he wakes in the morning, it’s to Harry’s smiling face and Nagini’s childish complaints. And he doesn’t remember the strange dream at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while, huh? Oh well. Here's the next chapter! Harry's finally here and the Plot can finally begin to trickle in. I hope you're excited! Let me know what you thought in the comments.
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ) It's a server dedicated to your takes on shows, characters, books, etc. Those theories you have bottled up can be aired out there! And I'm there (assuming you like me) so there's that! It's just a fun place, man.
> 
> Also, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> I....have a problem....so have this, I guess. Comment below and tell me your thoughts! If you want to chat, my Tumblr is [iwishihadbrain.](https://iwishihadbrain.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Hey, you should totally check out this server I made: [spicy hot takes!](https://discord.gg/UBpDYdQ) It's a server dedicated to your takes on shows, characters, books, etc. Those theories you have bottled up can be aired out there! And I'm there (assuming you like me) so there's that! Really just join it. Please. (My band needs members, okay?)


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